THE 



GREAT EXHIBITION 



CONTINENTAL SKETCHES, PRACTICAL 
AND HUMOROUS. 



HOWARD PAYSON ARNOLD, 

AUTHOR OF " EUROPEAN MOSAIC." 



" Johnson : ' Make a large book — a folio.' 
Boswell: ' But of what use will it be, Sir ? 
Johnson : ' Never miud the use; do it.' " 




NEW YORK: 
PUBLISHED BY HURD AND HOUGHTON, 

459 Broome Street. 
1«68. 



I THE LIBRARY 
I or CONGRESS 

lb 



WASHINGTON 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by 

Howard Patson Arnold, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of MassacliusettB. 



^1^ 



RIVERSIDE, Cambridge: 

STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BT 
H. 0. U0UGHT0> AND COMPANY. 



TO 

Mrs. ELIZABETH MURRAY, 

NO LESS DEVOTED AS A FRIEND, THAN DISTINGUISHED 
AS AN ARTIST, 

THIS WORK IS DEDICATED 

WITH EVERY SENTIMENT OF GRATEFUL ESTEEM. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER PAQ* 

I. Transitory Horrors 1 

II. The Chinese in Paris 13 

III. Batty and the Beasts 26 

IV. Paris and the Muses 37 

y. The Furka Pass and the Rhone Glacier . 48 

VI. En Route 60 

VII. Gentle Dullness at Dinner .... 76 

VIII. Zermatt 100 

IX. Mont Blanc 114 

X. Hotel Books and their Drolleries . . 136 

XI. Chamonix 150 

XII. Autumn in Piedmont 165 

XIII. Travelling Eccentricities .... 178 

XIV. Ravenna 191 

XV. Nice 208 

XVI. A Yankee all Abroad 223 

XVII. Mischianza di Nizza 236 

XVIII. Nice to Paris . . . . . . . 251 

XIX. La Cuisine Russe 271 

XX. The First Napoleon 286 

XXI. Ham and his Friends 298 

XXII. The Reserved Garden ..... 314 

XXIII. Sevres 325 

XXIV. Feathers 338 

XXV. The Offspring of the Pen .... 354 

XXVI. The Literary Amphitryon .... 380 

XXVII. Sub-Parisian Paris 395 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 



PAGE 

411 
. 428 

440 
. 453 

464 
Industry 475 



The Imperial Library . 
Spauks FKo:^^ the Kitchen Fire 
Eddystone Light-House . 
Divers Faceti.e .... 
Latent Nature .... 



ON THE THRESHOLD. 



No book at the present day Is fully rounded out 
to the satisfaction of those who peruse it, unless it 
be capped with, at least, the shadow of a Preface. 
Deprived of this finial, the most attractive work is 
likely to be regarded as but a handsome church 
without a spire, or a warrior bereft of his helmet. 
The Italians term this la salso del lih^o^ — the sauce 
of the book, — and if well seasoned, it doubtless, as 
DTsraeli observes, creates an appetite in the reader 
to devour the tome itself. And yet it is often ten- 
dered by its composer, with fear and trembling, for 
in our day readers are quick to jump at conclusions. 
The most eloquent grace will hardly make a poor 
dinner palatable ; the liveliest prologue will fail to 
save a tiresome play ; the most spirited pream- 
ble will not make up for dreary and insipid resolu- 
tions. Thus, however vigorous the craving that the 
sauce may excite, it soon palls over windy meats 
and the heavy concoctions of an unskillfiTl cook. 



viil ON THE THRESHOLD. 

And after all, what is a Preface ? It is a literary 
chameleon, and changes its hue according to the 
situation. Therewith the crafty writer beguiles his 
readers into the belief that something is coming, 
when he knows that only emptiness will appear 
when the cover is raised. The enthusiastic Dryas- 
dust employs it to bring forward vast masses of anti- 
(juarian lore, like the impedimenta of an army, 
wliich cannot be received into the ranks without 
fatally obstructing its progress. With the timorous, 
it is a conciliatory puff, designed to forestall public 
opinion and deprecate the harshness of criticism. 
Often it is a verbal will-o'-the-wisp that will lead 
one deeper and deeper into the bog, till further pro- 
gress is barred by the gulf of vacancy. It may be a 
trap for the weak ; a brilliant soap-bubble to tantalize 
the foolish ; a penitent confession to gain the sym- 
pathy of the world ; a lofty assumption of superi- 
ority ; a guide-board ; an epitaph ; a eulogy ; a re- 
quiem : at times it is only the " Cave canem " at the 
door of the kennel. What it really is, depends upon 
circumstances. Hence, in our day, but little confi- 
dence is for the most part reposed in its professions, 
however winning to the eye. The great majority 
of readers skip nimbly over it ; tritely reflecting 
that the proof of the pudding is in the eating, and 



ON THE THRESHOLD. ix 

not in the glistening eyes, the smacking hps, and the 
incipient clatter of knives and forks which herald 
its approach. 

It was for these reasons, with others, that I de- 
cided to send this somewhat slender sapling into 
the world without a Preface, and depending solely 
on such attractions as might be found lying perdu 
within its covers. To the above remarks I will, 
therefore, simply add, that the volume consists of 
desultory sketches, and essays upon numerous sub- 
jects that took my fancy during a long foreign tour. 
It is not, either in size or significance, " so deep as a 
well, or so wide as a church-door ; but 't is enough ; 
't will serve " my object, certainly, which was quite 
as much my own entertainment, as that of any 
possible readers. Having undergone a wide expe- 
rience during the last two years as European cor- 
respondent of the " Boston Post," I have been en- 
couraged by the reception of my letters to offer the 
public some further results of foreign travel. They 
have been prepared with care and a genuine desire 
to aid the popular improvement. I have, in many 
parts, employed the present tense, both because it 
gives more life to the narration, and because the 
events described have so lately taken place, that 
they can hardly yet be said to belong to the past, at 



X ON THE THRESHOLD. 

least they have scarcely receded Into the domain 
of history. Though the leading title of the book is 
" The Great Exhibition," I may here say that it 
does not profess to give a general or complete ac- 
count of that wonderful industrial pageant. The 
pages devoted thereto contain but fugitive and ran- 
dom chronicles of some of its more peculiar aspects, 
which I hope will be regarded only in that light. It 
will be noticed, that in many places I have made use 
of passages and expressions from other authors to 
convey my meaning. These are not always desig- 
nated by marks of quotation, partly because they 
would too often disfigure the printer's handiwork, 
partly because those extracts are so well known to 
most readers, that no peculation prepense could well 
be imputed to me. To those who are not familiar 
with them, the presence or absence of their literary 
ear-marks would signify but little. 

Commending this volume to the indulgence of 
its well-wishers, I leave it to them. Whether 
these preliminary words shall serve as the floui'ish 
of trumpets to announce a victory, or, like flying 
Mamelukes, to cover a retreat with clouds of glit- 
tering dust, the author will have the satisfaction of 
knowing that he has done what he could to carry the 
day. The natural vanity of every writer prompts 



ON THE THRESHOLD. xi 

him to say boldly, " I look with pleasure on my 
book, however defective, and deliver it to the world 
with the spirit of a man that has endeavored well." 
Should no other merits appear, the most hypercrit- 
ical may safely admit that the tenor of the motto on 
the title-page has been followed. Having performed 
my task, to say the least, conscientiously, I am pre- 
pared to receive either the congratulations, or the 
melancholy sympathy, of my friends with equal 
aplomb. 

With the example of Cicero before me, I feel 
that I may, in conclusion, be allowed a solitary 
pun, without exciting too severely the popular ex- 
ecration, and those who reach the end of the book, 
if they discover nothing else, will, at all events, 
perceive that '' Finis coronat opus J''' 



CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 



CHAPTER I. 

TRANSITORY HORRORS. 

" To an American visiting Europe, the long voy- 
age lie has to make is an excellent preparative ; " 
— at least, so says Washington Irving, and those 
of us who have been soothed and gratified by his 
genial pen, have a natural weakness for trusting in 
his opinions. Unluckily, however, most of his ad- 
mirers at the present day are so constituted as to 
find in this sentence a rather severe test of their 
faith in him as a marine prophet. Like Byron, our 
cordial humorist was a born seaman, and could thus 
in all sincerity, lend an easy grace to a subject, 
which, otherwise, would have excited only a doleful 
antipathy. Whatever may have been his other 
bodily frailties, he was quite equal to any thing that 
Neptune could set in motion. Like the great Car- 
dinal, " he was a man of an unbounded stomach," 
and his endowments in this respect were such, that, 
even on ship-board, good digestion was ever wont 
to wait on appetite, and health on both. He asserts 



2 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

that he dehghted to chmb to the main-top — a lo- 
cahty for which even the oldest tars have an aver- 
sion, and where only the stanchest can remain with- 
out nausea — and " muse for hours together ; " 
and there are people now living who believe that he 
did so. But alas for our degenerate generation of 
cadaverous and dyspeptic voyagers ! Alas for the 
impulsive thumps and porpoise-like rolling of screw- 
propellers ! Alas for the earthy and unsympathetic 
captains of our age and their fierce regulations ! 
Modern poets find but few facilities for musing in 
the main-top, to " gaze upon the piles of golden 
clouds just peering above the horizon," and " watch 
the gentle undulating billows, rolling their silver vol- 
umes, as if to die away on those happy shores," nor 
do our steamers in general afford much material for 
the composition of dainty and fascinating essays. 
'-''Nous avons change tout cela^'' and the noisy and 
unscrupulous velocity of steam is now far more sug- 
gestive of pence than poetry. Hence, those who 
have read Irving' s pleasing experiences of half a 
century past, and think of them while undergoing 
the miseries of the new style of navigation, regard 
them as somewhat more agi-eeable to peruse on 
shore than to verify in person. Probably to some 
Americans visiting Europe, the voyage is " an ex- 
cellent preparative," but to most it is such a fore- 
taste as ancient pilgrims enjoyed in the hair shirts 
and unboiled peas with which they mortified the 
lusts of the flesh on their way to the Holy City. 



TRANSITORY HORRORS. 3 

" In this Pilgian's Projiss of a mortal wale," as 
Mrs. Gamp says, the minor ills of life are many and 
various. Often they are extremely aggravating, 
and yet there are few without some compensation, 
some little internal comfort, which soothes the mind 
and does much towards helping one to bear them 
with more or less of equanimity. Does Deacon 
Jones point the contribution box at me in a way that 
exacts at least a five dollar bill from my slender fi- 
nances ? I am yet blessed in the thought that neigh- 
bor Smith in the next pew is looking on, while I 
am bled. Do the necessities of Uncle Sam demand 
from me a fearful tax that threatens to force me to 
close my house and leave my country for lands re- 
mote ? I can still derive a grim satisfaction from 
reading my name high up on the list of patriots, 
where it has been placed by those watchful guardi- 
ans of public and private justice, the daily papers. 
Do I lose my favorite lawsuit, that has tasked my 
best energies, harassed me, body and soul, and 
emptied my pockets for the last five years ? I can, 
nevertheless, feel a jubilant glow at the thought that 
it has cost the defendant just as much as it has me, 
and that my lawyer took " the reesponseebeelee- 
tee " of displaying before a jury of twelve intelligent 
men all my native virtues and magnanimity of soul. 

But there is an evil to which no compensating 
balance seems allowed, and who can point out the 
essential joys of seasickness ? Who shall portray 
the alleviation granted to a disconsolate shut up in 



4 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

a solitary cell on board a floating hospital, and con- 
demned to lie perpetually on a bed " harder than a 
brick-badge ? " 

To find that sleep is no longer the " gentle thing 
beloved from pole to pole," but the offspring of as- 
phyxia, and the parent of cramps, contortions, and 
writhings, as of a doomed body in a coffin ; dreams 
of fearful import and phantom horrors, incessantly 
hunting each other in wild unrest through the dis- 
tracted brain : to attempt to rise, and vibrate to and 
fro, like a hen new lighted on the perilous edge of 
a lofty fence on a gusty day ; to nibble a dreary 
cracker in abject wretchedness, like a rat in a hole, 
ftirtively looking about, as if even that might be 
snatched from you, and then to contend with Nep- 
tune for the privilege of retaining even that dubi- 
ous treat ; to hover over a dish of oatmeal porridge, 
and smack one's lips, and make much of it, and 
thank the gods for it, as for truffled turkey or roast 
pig ; in the morning to groan " Would that Bliicher 
or night were come ; " at evening to abuse the 
memory of Christopher Columbus, and fervently 
wish that he had been content to stay at home and 
comb the tangled effervescence of innocent sheep, 
instead of deA^oting himself to the discovery of three 
thousand miles of sea-sickness ; to stretch out a leg 
to relieve the pain in one's thigh, or an arm to mit- 
igate the torture in one's back, to sprawl like a 
lobster and distribute the agony, or expand one's 
self like a crab to throw it off ; to perceive one's 



TRANSITORY HORRORS. 6 

voice reduced to the faintest intimation of a dying 
zephyr ; to whisper to the steward, " Give me some 
drink, Titinius, as a sick girl ; " — where shall we 
look for the cheerful soul that can extract even a 
crumb of comfort from such woes as these ? 

Under these circumstances how deeply is exist- 
ence intensified ! How slowly the lonely minutes 
pass, each swollen with misery, and told off, one by 
one like the beads of a sad and hopeless penitent ! 
How greedily the mind grasps at any possible ease- 
ment, any oasis, however small, in this broad and 
monotonous desert ! The various senses are no 
longer ministering angels, but aggravating harpies, 
each heavy with its own especial burden, which it 
deposits wherever it is likely to cause the greatest 
annoyance. Sound assumes invariably its most dis- 
consolate notes, and the steamer resembles a stu- 
pendous organ put to sea in a gale, and showing its 
■unlimited capacity only by an endless broadside of 
ill-regulated discords. On board the most quiet 
vessel, one hears without cessation the recoil of 
angry and spiteful waves, the whiz of escaping 
steam, the bumping and groaning, the snorting and 
sighing and convulsions of the engine, like Enceladus 
under JEtna ; the clanking of chains and the loud 
crash of splintered crockery, with " damnable iter- 
ation " of brazen bells, from one up to eight, taking 
note of time by its loss ; interminable moans of suf- 
fering victims ; — all these and more, mingled with 
sharp cries for the steward, who rushes from couch 



6 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES, 

to couch like " triumphant Death " in the lazar- 
house, shaking his dart, yet delaying to strike. The 
sense of smell is invariably a vexation, and takes 
upon itself the mission of conveymg to the nostrils 
every form of annoyance. The cleanliest steamer 
abounds in fumes, compared with which the " two 
and seventy stenches " of Cologne are " Sabean 
odors from the spicy shore of Araby the Blest." It 
would be useless to try to enumerate them all, but, 
in the matter of cookery alone, it is safe to say that 
for every letter of the whole menu,, from " Anges d 
la mode " down to " Zouaves au naturel^'^ there are 
at least a score of different exhalations. The dis- 
quiet of a ship is as varied as its scents, and motion 
wearies itself in devising new aggravations, till with 
the tossing and heaving and rolling, the pitching 
and swaying and lurching, the hapless passenger 
feels himself to be merely the sport of the elements, 
a dilapidated mass of senseless humanity, with little 
more life than a lump of dough. 

The most famous moralist of our age — by which 
I mean Mr. Pecksniff and not Doctor Johnson — 
wisely remarked to his charming daughters, " My 
dears, even cream, sugar, toast, ham and eggs have 
their moral," and I dare say this is true of every- 
thing, even sea-sickness, though it is necessary to 
go very far and dig very deep to reach it. When 
found, I doubt if it would be very improving. By- 
ron, Franklin, Irving, Macaulay, and some others 
have succeeded in discoverino; the brio-ht side of life 



TRANSITORY HORRORS. 7 

on the ocean, but I never heard that they wrote 
about it, till they had got safely to land, and felt the 
more solid and less treacherous part of this planet 
under their feet. In fact it is often quite easy 
to take a contincrent dram of comfort while look- 
ing on calamity at a distance. Moses and Miriam 
chanted loudly at the passage of the Red Sea, — 
but not until they could look down upon the unfor- 
tunate Egyptians starring the waters with their 
crests. Horace and Virgil sang paeans in honor of 
the Adriatic, — but not until they had hung up vo- 
tive offerings in the temple of Neptune in thankful 
devotion for their escape. Darius the Median gazed 
with philosophic calmness into the den of lions, and 
so did King Alphonso, and thought " we 're better 
here than there." This is about all the satisfaction, 
moral or other, that most people get from the ocean. 
It has doubtless been the custom of sea-going folk 
from the beginning of time, and will so continue to 
the end, to suffer and grumble and quake ad infir- 
nitum while on the water, but to take an abundant 
supply of comfort as soon as their feet touch the 
shore. There is philosophy in this. Contentment 
is first cousin to the cardinal virtues. " We were 
born into a wale, we live in a wale, and we must 
take the consequences of such a sitiwation." 

Living in the days of a Brougham and a Whew- 
ell, when every item of knowledge is precious, and 
in a community that incessantly gasps for it, one 
has a natural curiosity to learn if sea-sickness always 



8 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

thus tormented our weak humanity. When Noah 
emigrated, did he cast his bread upon the waters ? 
When the Grecian chiefs departed for Troy, did 
Nestor and Agamemnon, Ajax and Menelaus, and 
all " the black-bearded kings," lie strewn about the 
decks like limp dish-clouts, with inverted helmets ? 
When Ulysses sailed " beyond the baths of all the 
western stars " in search of the great Achilles, did 
he lean a languishing head over the side of his gal- 
ley, and give his honors to the ocean again ? When 
Caesar crossed the Channel, did he suffer a sea- 
change from a towering victor into the mere sem- 
blance of a man ? When William the Conqueror 
stumbled and fell on his first landing in England, 
was he so sea-sick that he could not stand ? And 
yet it little profits to make these inquiries, and the 
student of history will derive but a scanty advan- 
tage from pursuing them, for they can never be 
answered. The sreat ones of the earth are invari- 
ably sensitive in regard to those petty weaknesses 
which so often unman then- race and diminish their 
influence over those around them. We are told 
that le grand Monarque never exposed himself shorn 
of his exuberant wig, even to his nearest attend- 
ants, and we may be sure that military pride would 
ever do its best to prevent at least the record of 
fi-ailties which it could not entirely conceal. 

There would be much more bravery shown in 
enduring the ills of sea-sickness, if one could look 
forward with hope to any remedy, short of his 



TRANSITORY HORRORS. 9 

arrival at his destination. But if there be any 
cure, I have not, as yet, been fortunate enough to 
meet with it. There was but a single prescription 
on board our steamer, and that was the homely one, 
" Grin and bear it." Opportunities for testing the 
efficiency of this were never wanting, though httle 
benefit ever resulted therefrom. The situation tried 
somewhat severely even Mark Tapley's chronic jol- 
lity, and he was as near to coming out strong under 
such " a deal of misery," as any man can expect to 
be. With a moderate degree of bodily vigor, one 
can, on a fair and tranquil day, enjoy a certain 
amount of ease, if he be able to leave his berth. 
Now and then the commander is the source of con- 
siderable relief, and, when of a cheery temper, can 
bestow no little comfort upon those who are well 
enough to frequent the decks. Our captain fortu- 
nately possessed much of the Tapley gayety, and 
was not slow to invest it for the benefit of his pas- 
sengers. Of rugged health and a genial soul, he 
found in the sea his natural element. He had fol- 
lowed it since the age of eleven years, in all parts 
of the world, and by his own energy had forced his 
way from the humble position of cabin-boy up to 
that which he now held. While he was remarka- 
bly intelligent on general subjects, I was particu- 
larly struck with his perfect knowledge of the sailor 
character and temperament. Some of the stories 
he told of his men were highly amusing. 

One peculiarity of an English mariner, is his use 



10 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 



1 



of the word " bloody." With him a subject of 
Napoleon is invariably " a bloody Frenchman." An 
old tar in the captain's service defined an epicure as 
" a bloody beggar that eats everything." On a 
bright and shining day — when he was formerly on 
duty in the Mediterranean — a large frigate of Her 
Majesty's navy was visited by the King of Naples, 
with a numerous suite of courtiers and official per- 
sonages. The vessel was in the most perfect order, 
and every part had been rubbed till it shone from 
stem to stern. The royal party were gay with gold 
lace and scarlet uniforms, and rambled over the craft 
in the most free and sociable manner. Among her 
various arrangements for comfort, she had several 
of those round tunnels of sail-cloth to ventilate the 
hold, which are called wind-sails. These excited 
the curiosity of King Bomba and his followers more 
than aught else, as they could not imagine of 
what possible use pure air, or clean water, or any 
other provision for personal neatness and health, 
could be to anybody. After a minute examination, 
the group descended between decks, at least all but 
one. The curiosity of this resplendent royal bird 
had been by no means satisfied, and he stole back 
to take a further and nearer view of the phenome- 
non. First inquisitively staring at the wind-sail, he 
at length touched it. Then peeping cautiously 
down its maw, as we sometimes see a crow inves- 
tio-atino; the skull of a dead horse, he bent over to 
look at it more closely. Just then the vessel gave 



TRANSITORY HORRORS. 11 

a slight lurch, his feet treacherously slipped on the 
smooth deck, a pair of yellow heels twinkled for an 
instant in the radiant sun of Italy, and silently Don 
Pomposo Agapantho disappeared. No one had for- 
tuned to see this mishap but an old salt, who was 
on duty in that part of the vessel. Jack did not 
make any useless outcry, however, but quietly went 
aft, touched his hat respectfully to tlie officer there 
stationed, and saying " One of them 'ere bloody 
kings has tumbled down the main hatch," quietly 
walked away. 

I was highly amused at a story told by the cap- 
tain concerning Lord Grosvenor, who was among 
his passengers some time since. This nobleman is 
the eldest son and heir of the Marquis of Westmin- 
ster, whose fortune is enormous and said to produce 
the immense income of £450,000 per annum. He is 
remarkably intelligent, and the variety and depth of 
his information would be considered great, even for 
a commoner. He has travelled extensively in all 
parts of the world, and it is not long since he re- 
turned from a long tour in the United States. 
While at the West he was one day waiting at a 
country station for a tardy train, when one of the 
farmers of the neio-hborhood entered into conversa- 
tion with him. 

" Bin about these parts consid'able, stranger ? " 

" Yes, for some length of time." 

" Like 'em putty well, eh ? " 

"Yes, pretty well." 



12 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

" How long have yer bin here ? " 

" A few weeks." 

" What 's yer bizness ? " 

" I have no business." 

" What are yer travelhn' for, then ? " 

" Only for my own pleasure." 

" Don't yer do any bizness ? How do yer get 
yer livin' then?" 

"It is n't necessary for me to work for my sup- 
port. My father is a man of property, and gives 
me an allowance sufficient for my wants." 

" But s'pose the old man should die ? " 

" In that case I dare say he 'd leave me enough 
to live upon." 

" But s'pose he should bust up ? " 

Here the conversation ended, and Lord Grosve- 
nor walked away, evidently impressed by a new 
idea, and one which had never been so forcibly pre- 
sented to him until now. 



CHAPTER 11. 

THE CHINESE IN PARIS. 

Paris is tlie very Cleopatra of cities ; " a city 
on the inconstant billows dancing." " Age cannot 
wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety ; 
others cloy the appetites they feed, but she makes 
hungry where most she satisfies, for vilest things 
become themselves in her." Still, as of old, her 
weird fascinations irresistibly draw towards her the 
feet of men, sanguine and elate. She yet dispenses 
all sensuous delights, and holds up to the world the 
mirror in which alone their artificial adornments 
may complacently be seen. " Paris still is Helen's 
passion, Paris still the glass of fashion," and it is in 
the eyes of Paris that those graces are redoubled 
with which the fairest of the fair in our day goes 
forth to conquest. The queen of worldly pleasure, 
she rules by a thousand hidden influences, and 
silken cords and soft persuasions are the only incen- 
tives that ensure the obedience of her willing sub- 
jects. 

Who can resist her reign, when on a fair April 
day her gayety for the first time flashes upon the 
sight, and she holds her state in the newest and 



14 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

greenest of the vernal fashions ? The chrysalis 
of winter has burst at last, and its teeming life is 
already afloat. The sky is clear and without cloud 
serene. The trees are doing their bravest, as if 
sensible of their responsibility, and already are 
tipped with green and fragrant buds, redolent of the 
future. The streets are no longer dissolved in 
molten clay. The throngs in the Champs Elysees 
are numerous and glittering as the gay motes that 
people the sunbeams. In the gardens of the Tuil- 
eries are crowds of happy and sprightly children, 
dancing with exuberant insouciance., and tossing 
trouble to the winds, as in all the colors of the soap- 
bubble they chase the ball and drive the hoop. The 
air is delicate, and in the all-golden afternoon the 
spinsters and the knitters in the sun, and the free 
maids that weave their threads with bone, sit simply 
chatting in a rustic row. The flames of life warm 
every cheek and dance in every eye. The team of 
milk-white goats, with its neat and tasty little train, 
finds a full fi-eight of enchanted children, who snatch 
a fearful joy and gratify their incipient humanity by 
using the whip to the full force of their little biceps. 
They are but an epitome of the old reproach cast 
upon our race : " What a lovely day it is. Let 's 
go out and kill something." Their less favored 
companions dig up the smooth gravel with wooden 
spades into unsightly holes, or, in imitation of 
M. Haussmann, open new avenues and Sebastopol 
trenches for their elders to fall over. The sleek 



THE CHINESE IN PARIS. 15 

and ruddy-faced old ladies that keep the stalls at 
the sides of the paths, drive a roaring trade, and 
riot with unlimited complacency over the speedy in- 
dependence that promises to flow from the sale of 
multitudes of gingerbread monsters with scarlet eyes, 
and tin trumpets pernicious to the ear. Fossil old 
beaux, thus far lazily floating on the current of 
time, long divorced from utility on the ground of 
incongi'uity of temperament, loungers to the manner 
born, the flaneurs of the boulevards, deposit them- 
selves on the accustomed chairs and ogle the passers 
by. The veterans of the Invalides, tempted to 
this extent by the enticing day, saunter slowly in 
their blue uniforms, scarred with the bloody be- 
quests of many a deed of derring-doe and punctu- 
ated with medals of silver and bronze. Along the 
drive the festive tide swells full and free, and re- 
splendent equipages flash to and fro. The summer 
glories of this Queen of capitals have already begun, 
and " the roses of the spring " are no longer a poet- 
ical myth. 

As far as concerns the temperament of its peo- 
ple, Paris is the same now that it ever was. What 
they are to-day, that they were a century ago ; 
what they were then, that they were when Julian 
the Apostate was first saluted as Emperor within 
the walls of Lutetia Parisiorum. Their easy and 
volatile existence still clings to them. Like the 
ancient Athenians, the modern Parisians spend the 
principal part of their leisure " in nothing else, but 



10 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

eitlier to tell, or to hear some new thing." Those 
who are not obliged to work, trifle away their hours 
m the Chaynps JSIt/sSss, or along the boulevards, 
where they float hither and thither, like thistle- 
down in the sunshine. Those who are constrained 
to remain at home, look regretfully upon the lively 
swarm that flits below them. They that are too 
much engaged to frequent the windows, are contin- 
ually calling out to those more fortunate than them- 
selves, like Bluebeard's wife, " Sister Ann, do you 
see any one coming ? " And so their world glides 
on. 

Though a very wilderness in the matter of mor- 
als, Paris daily blossoms like the rose with new sen- 
sations. This floral comparison may well be still 
further carried out. The crop of one is as various 
as that of the other. There are double roses and 
single ; with thorns and without, — though the lat- 
ter, alas, are few, — red and white, yellow and 
green, and the most charming mauve ; there are 
the real and the artificial, — the latter in profusion, 
— and, among the whole, not one that lasts more 
than a brief space, or leaves anything behind it but 
a faint aroma and a shower of scattered petals re- 
turninsi; to the earth that brouo-ht them forth. So 
it is with the numberless and transient delights of 
Paris. Blooming for a moment they shed their 
piquant influences, vanish before the chilling breezes 
of popular ennui, and no one wastes a farther thought 
upon them. To be sure, there is now and then one 



THE CHINESE IN PARIS, 17 

among all these fugitive pleasures that may be 
called chronic, or that has, at least, an intermittent 
existence. When everything else fails, the Wan- 
dering Jew may safely be relied upon to fill up the 
vacancy. The place of his birth is not known with 
certainty ; but one might easily infer, from the per- 
tinacity with which he is kept before the people, 
that his only real attachment was for Paris. We 
all know with what success Eugene Sue has made 
use of the adventures of that nomadic cobbler, and 
everybody who has seen the picturesque hizarrerie 
of Gustave Dor^, will testify that he has made much 
of him in every sense of the word. Since the re- 
mote darkness of the Middle Ages, the unlucky 
Ahasuerus has always been available in France as 
a hete noire to point somebody's moral, or adorn 
somebody's story, or frighten the children to sleep. 
In Paris, streets are named for him, cafes and shops 
are dedicated to him, the public shudder over his 
adventures at the theatres, and if he has not been 
seen on the Champs ElysSes for the last few years, 
it is probably because even he became disgusted 
with the fickleness of his chosen city and its numer- 
ous competitors for popular favor, and abstracted 
himself for a season, that his return might have the 
merit of novelty, if nothing more. 

For a few days of my stay in Paris, the Wander- 
ing Jew gave place to the wandering Chinaman, and 
the advent of the Chinese Ambassador — '-'• Son 
Excellence^ Pin-Ta-Jing," as the citizens called him 



18 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

— was one of those flying follies that all the people 
are so anxious to shoot. The great man himself 
was seldom visible, but his suite were by no means 
rare. They seemed to be as numerous as the hairs 
in His Excellency's queue. They were all be-tailed, 
many of them fearfully be-buttoned, while the great 
Panjandrum par excellence was be-dragoned to that 
extent, that one could hardly decide whether he 
were a himian being or a hippogrifF. " Never, be- 
lieve me, appear the Immortals, never alone," and 
so it was with the Celestial family of Pin-Ta-Jing. 
They generally hunted in couples, probably from an 
idea that they were safer, and no part of the city 
was overlooked by their little piggish eyes and Paul 
Pry-ish investigations. 

What instructions they received fi'om " the Lord 
of the Sun and Moon " when they left his domin- 
ions, no one knows ; but from their proceedings while 
here, one would infer that they were like those of 
Napoleon to Jomini, " Make a good job of it." For 
at least three weeks their uncouth forms were to be 
seen on the tops of all the columns and arches, down 
in the vaults and catacombs, and striding along 
through all the " temples, palaces, and piles stupen- 
dous " of the metropolis. If they did not regard 
the wisdom that crieth in the streets, it was not for 
want of opportunity, for their perambulations in 
that direction were unstinted. They even wan- 
dered beyond the Avails and visited not only the Boi9 
de Boulogne.^ but the Jardin c?' AccUmatation, where 



THE CHINESE IN PARIS. 19 

they recognized with a stoHd stare of dehght the 
Mandarin ducks and httle black pigs with no bristles, 
that were brought from China to minister to the 
versatile tastes of the Parisians, and which bear so 
striking a resemblance to the Chinese themselves. 

Considering the many temptations of this capital, 
these satellites of imperial splendor appear to have 
led quite sober lives. Probably they were cautioned 
before they left home against the lures of les co- 
cottes, and that very decollete sisterhood who lead so 
many spotless lambs astray. I think it very likely 
that the Japanese representatives were not reticent 
on their return home. Doubtless " the ever silent 
spaces of the East " reechoed to the multifarious 
woes of these martyrs a la plenijpotentiaire, who 
found so much more than they expected during 
their experiences of modern civilization. At any 
rate their Chinese brethren would not allow any 
tricks to be played upon them. They protected 
themselves pretty well with the aid of the police 
and their long nails ; in respect to which latter 
weapon, any one of them, from Pin-Ta-Jing down, 
might have passed for a legate a latere from Nebu- 
chadnezzar himself. 

These Celestials do not by any means belong to 
that class who " err by overmuch admiring." They 
are undemonstrative to the last degree, and never 
smile any more than a clam. One might as well 
try to extract a laugh from the Egyptian Sphinx. 
Not the least expression of wonder or approval ever 



20 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

passes over their faces. In presence of the great- 
est triumphs of Western genius and science, a gen- 
tle roaring, Hke that of Bottom's sucking dove, or a 
mild agitation of their tails, such as Horace ascribes 
to Cerberus, are the utmost limit to which they 
allow themselves to go. At sight of so much 
phlegm one feels an almost irresistible impulse to 
insinuate a bunch of lighted crackers into some cre- 
vasse in their voluminous robes, to see if they would 
condescend to be astonished at the unexpected ap- 
pearance of an article of their own manufacture. 
All this, however, the Parisians admitted to be quite 
natural. They belong to the oldest civilization ex- 
tant ; inherited their morals, such as they are, di- 
rect from Confacius, and can't reasonably be ex- 
pected to admire anything less than a thousand 
years old. One might as well think to see Moses 
admire the capers of Blondin, as that Pin-Tae-Jing 
and his staid dependants should manifest any won- 
derment at the fashionable gambols of voluptuous 
Paris. 

These diplomats — one of whom, by the way, 
measured nearly eleven feet from the end of his 
queue to the heels of his red boots — proved a mag- 
nificent catch for the Parisian papers. They were 
about as good spoil as could fall to these witty and 
unscrupulous chroniclers. Charivari and his com- 
peers were not slow to avail themselves of the 
chance, and P. T. J. and his troupe met a worse 
fate than Maupertuis received at the hands of Vol- 



THE CHINESE IN PARIS. 21 

taire. Every personal peculiarity, from tlie ribbons 
on their scalp-locks to the tips of their toes — each 
movement, feature, and habit — was commented upon 
in a way that could not fail to excite roars of laugh- 
ter. The city was in a humor to appreciate every 
one of these jibes, for their point was seen when- 
ever the Orientals appeared in public. Their efforts 
to scramble to the other side of the street, through 
the slippery and inevitable Macadam, in their clumsy 
shoes and cumbrous raiment, in particular, always 
produced irresistible applause. Happening to be 
present at one of these transits, on a day when the 
boulevards were like liquid " sweetness long drawn 
out," I can bear witness to the eclat that attended 
it. There was a sudden rush ; an awkward jum- 
ble ; a flutter of blue silk petticoats ; a display of 
stumpy legs describing numerous diagrams not laid 
down in any geometry ; a hairy pennant standing 
out stiffly in the breeze, like the " Suivez-moi jeune 
Jiomme " worn by the swift Camilla ; a dodging of 
colliding vehicles ; shouts of " Ohe^ Id-has ! " from 
exasperated drivers, and "O/ie Ohinois I ^'' from all 
the gamins within hearing ; with exulting screams 
from the spectators ; — in the midst of which, the ir- 
repressible representatives of '' the Central Flowery 
Nation" floundered to the opposite shore unhurt. 

Many stories were told of their wooden indiffer- 
ence to everything around them which it was sup- 
posed would excite their wonder. They invariably 
said, if, indeed, they made any remark, " We have 



22 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

better than that in China." On one occasion they 
were surprised by a drenching rain which very soon 
covered the streets with a thick plaster of mud. 
Their comment was merely, " Oh, that is notliing ; 
at Pekin it rains a great deal harder, and the mud is 
much thicker." One of their attendants at the 
theatre was apologizing for the small size of their 
box. " We have them much smaller with us," 
they replied, and apparently with considerable ex- 
ultation. On one of the boulevards, a woman quite 
old, and by no means a beauty, was pointed out to 
them as in the act of leading a millionaire to his 
ruin. " Nonsense ! " said Ching-Bang-Hai. " In 
China, we have frequently seen men a great deal 
wealthier, ruined by women much more aged and 
ugly than that one." 

As for the great P. T. J. himself, he remained in 
complete seclusion during most of the time. He 
never told his preferences to any one, " but let con- 
cealment, like a worm i' the bud, feed on his damask 
cheek." The subs, however, twice, and twice only, 
expressed a certain degree of surprise at the high 
refinement of modern civilization ; once at the deli- 
cate and chaste performances of Mile. Theresa, and 
again at the 400th representation of " La Biche au 
hois.'''' Perhaps they spoke advisedly. 

Afler a stay of three weeks the " Chineses " 
went to London to recruit their shattered fi^ames, 
pick up as much information as possible on the 
wing, and lengthen the more attenuated parts of 



THE CHINESE IN PARIS. 23 

their bodies by the aid of double stout and roast 
beef. As usual, they moved about incessantly, and 
came as near to solving the problem of perpetual 
motion, as any human invention yet discovered. 
They were seeij at the Derby and at Woolwich, at 
the British Museum and at Windsor Castle, within 
forty-eight hours. When I afterwards encountered 
half a dozen of the attaches on Piccadilly in a rain 
storm, they did not appear to show any particular 
fancy for the English climate. Their faces were 
spotted with soot, and their robes drenched with 
those showers of Day and Martin which make Lon- 
don the paradise of the negro. They were examin- 
ing with some curiosity a shop-window that con- 
tained a portion of the voluminous publications of 
the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, 
— sarcastically styled in its prime, " The Society 
for the Confusion of Useless Knowledge," — and 
seemed to be laboring under the impression that 
these held something which nobody knew before. 
The bulk of those works, certainly, hke that of the 
Great Eastern, is vast enough to excite this hallu- 
cination in almost any mind ; and perhaps the unso- 
phisticated plenipotentiaries could hardly be blamed 
for spending a few hours in reading the titles in- 
dorsed upon them. 

The object of Pin-Ta-Jing's voyage to the west- 
ern world, is said to have been the establishment of 
embassies at Paris and London. Possibly Rome 
will also be favored in this respect, as the Chinese 



24 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

must be anxious to return the numerous civilities 
they have received from the Pope and the Propa- 
ganda. The Parisian journals are jubilant at the 
prospect, though it has not yet become a reality, 
and whenever the plan is carried into practice, will 
certainly rank it among the hautes nouveautes of the 
season. They already chuckle over the impending 
gaucheries of these barbarians, and, from their expe- 
rience of the jDioneer envoys, look forward to a 
diplomatic parade such as Paris never saw before. 
They very reasonably suppose, that the eccentric 
capers of these minor satellites are nothing com- 
pared to the lofty shines that the Great Dragon him- 
self will cut up on his arrival. Coming from a 
land, " where every prospect pleases and only man 
is vile," the people of this refined capital will nat- 
urally do everything for his Excellency's mental, 
moral, and social improvement. Les cocottes will 
wave their purple wings and revel in good offices 
for " ces cJiers Chinois ; " and if the various members 
of the embassy don't learn a thing or two that even 
Confucius himself never knew, within a few wrecks 
of their arrival, it will be because they are either 
blind or deaf. 

It w^ould be eminently just, if some of these wits 
could be punished in this world for their malicious 
pasquinades, and no better Rhadamanthus could be 
found for this purpose than the High Ambassador 
himself. Let him invite the pungent contributors 
to Le Charivari and Le Journal pour Mire to an im- 



THE CHINESE IN PARIS. 25 

perial banquet. Let him press tliem, somewhat 
forcibly, to partake of baked dog, sea-slugs, frogs' 
livers, and many other of those savory messes that 
so long rankled in the bosom of our first minister 
to China, Mr. Gushing; let him restrict them to 
chopsticks and their fingers, and after the entertain- 
ment, summon them to waltz with some of the small- 
footed ambassadresses, and his revenge will be all 
that any man can reasonably desire. His guests 
will thus be taught, that they who quaffed the foam 
of a new sensation, may be ultimately compelled to 
drain its dregs. 



CHAPTER IIL 

BATTY AND THE BEASTS. 

In the amusements of giddy and fitful Paris, the 
most remote extremes meet in amicable embrace. 
Every star has its worshippers, and blazes, for the 
moment, with dazzhng brilliancy. But the versatile 
idolaters soon grow tired of theh devotion, and 
transfer it to other objects, without the slightest idea 
of inconsistency. Every sensuous agitation is wel- 
comed with delight, and a sm^feit of nervous excite- 
ment is the last trouble to be apprehended. The 
thoughtless crowd rush from the Grand Opera to the 
menagerie, fi^om Patti to Batty, with equal rapture. 
The ravishing notes of the Queen of Song are 
quickly forgotten in the audacious gallantry of the 
King of Lions. Yesterday they received the 
piquant and enticing prima donna with showers of 
bouquets and tumults of applause ; to-day the same 
multitude offer similar ovations to the tamer of 
wild beasts in the midst of his voracious horde. 

Batty, the Van Amburgh of the day, is just now 
the popular favorite, and none the less so from the 
fact that, on two occasions, he has nearly fallen a 
victim to the carnal appetites of his subjects. In 



BATTY AND THE BEASTS. 27 

his case the old Horatian maxim, " Ccelum non ani- 
mam mutant .^ qui tra7is mare currimt^''^ has had a 
fresh and woful ilhistration. The beasts that he 
has tried to tame came from Africa, and the passage 
of the Mediterranean seems to have had upon them 
no more eifect, than it did upon the poet himself. It 
is pretty obvious that they see but little difference 
between the Champs Elysees and their own native 
jungles. In sooth they are for the most part a per- 
verse animal, and have no more scruples about mak- 
ing short work of a Christian to-day, than did their 
ancestors in the Coliseum ages ago. They are apt 
to rush at conclusions, especially when they are 
hungry, and not given to making nice distinctions, 
unless they are enforced with a strong arm. Batty's 
menagerie contains five of these animals, all fully 
grown and from six to eight years old. They pre- 
serve their teeth and claws untouched, and are 
nearly as fierce as when first caught. It has been 
the habit of their master to enter their den in a 
Hungarian costume, and show his complete control 
of them in every way that his ingenuity has been 
able to devise. With many growls and much gnash- 
ing of their teeth, they do all that he requires of 
them, and submit to a thousand indignities. Their 
jaws are violently wrenched apart and rudely 
slammed together. They are taken up and thrown 
down by his gigantic strengtli like bales of mer- 
chandise. Pistols and fireworks are let off before 
their faces, and at a given signal they leap in sue- 



28 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

cession over their master's head from one end of 
their cage to the other. 

One evening in the early summer, a violent thun- 
der storm burst over Paris. My apartment over- 
looked the Cirque de V Imperatrice in the Champs 
JElysees^ where the lions were kept, and the scene for 
a short space was indescribably grand. The air was 
full of electricity, and under its influence these an- 
imals, as is always the case, became fearfully ex- 
cited. They ran to and fro in fierce and ungovern- 
able rage. They lashed their flanks with their 
tails in passionate vehemence. Placing their mouths 
to the ground, they roared in mingled rage and ter- 
ror. Their eyes dilated, and seemed to flash forth 
the lightnings of the tempest that rioted within 
them. Without, the roaring of the lions was an- 
swered by the howls of the blast and the loud crash 
of the thunder. With these, at intervals, were 
mingled the neighings of a hundred frightened 
horses in the stables of the Circus. Gusts of wind 
swept down the broad avenue and bowed the lofty 
trees. The rain descended in torrents. The peo- 
ple fled before the demon of the storm. For a few 
minutes, the whole vicinity seemed given up to the 
furies of elemental warfare. Scarce had the mut- 
tering thunders died away in chstant reverberations, 
when the time drew near for Batty 's advent among 
his brutes. As he came in sight, they hailed him 
with boisterous uproar. Standing upright against 
the massive bars, they grappled them in their rage 



BATTY AND THE BEASTS. 29 

and gnashed upon him with their teeth. A man of 
iron nerves could hardly have looked upon them 
with calmness. Had his body been made of steel, 
he would scarcely have dared to trust himself 
among them. But Batty did not quail. At a 
bound he leaped into the cage, despising all hesita- 
tion. Its iron door he slammed after him with a 
loud clang. To us who looked on, it seemed the 
gate of a sepulchre. His subjects glared at him, as 
if they would instantly devour him. For a moment 
he returned their gaze, and looked steadily into the 
eyes of each. They could not bear the test. One 
by one they cowered before him and slunk away, 
conscious of their helplessness. Again mind tri- 
umphed over the rude dictates of instinct, and man, 
the lord and master, towered in his pride of place. 

The exhibition proceeded, and again the sullen 
crew seemed powerless to resist his commands. At 
length a honess, who had been ordered to leap over 
his head, failed in the effort. Apparently miscalcu- 
lating the distance, or her own strength, she struck 
full upon the head and shoulders of her master. 
Her weight bore him to the ground. The lion 
whose turn it was to follow, had she succeeded, 
threw himself upon the struggling group, and fear- 
ful was the sight. The crowded amphitheatre rose 
in a body; the women, with averted eyes, fled 
shrieking from the house ; loud cries arose in all 
du-ections, '' Assez ! Assez ! '' '' (7 en est fini !'' 
" Quelle horreur ! " For a moment, and but for a 



80 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

moment, the result seemed uncertain. But Batty's 
tremendous strength and coolness availed, even in 
this nearly fatal hour. Struggling he arose, and 
wounded, bleeding, as he was, dashed his principal 
antagonist to the farther corner of the cage. Seiz- 
ing his whip, he struck the lion a blow in the face 
that made him wince and falter. The latter dared 
not defend himself, and Batty, still the master of 
his fierce and rebellious domain, gave one stern 
glance to satisfy himself that peace had been re- 
stored, and retired from the scene. His wounds 
were severe, and nothing but his own indomitable 
energy saved his life. To those who looked 
upon that mortal struggle, that deadly embrace of 
raging, growling, griping monsters, who, maddened 
by the taste of blood and the memory of past 
wrongs, seemed to hold their tyrant in their toils, 
like Laocoon in the grasp of the serpents, but one 
result appeared possible, and it was with heartfelt 
sighs of relief and enthusiastic vivats, that Batty 
was seen to emerge from the contest still a man, 
and holding his own as of old. Plucky as ever, he 
has since that day returned again to the arena. His 
wounds, though deep, only penetrated the flesh, and 
no bones were broken, or arteries severed. They 
rapidly healed, and Batty's iron frame and robust 
constitution quickly recovered from the inroad they 
made upon it. Strange as it may appear, after the 
illness of their master the lions seemed to miss him, 
and long for his return. They were melancholy 



BATTY AND THE BEASTS. 31 

and restless. They paced the floor of their cage to 
and fro, as if seeking something they could not 
find. At the usual hour of their exhibition they 
were more agitated than ever. It is said that they 
felt the want of the loud applause with which they 
had always been received, like many other great 
actors and public performers. 

Batty is now thirty years of age. He is an 
American by birth, but early left the United States 
to enter the service of his uncle, who for a long 
time was the principal manager of Astley's Amphi- 
theatre at London. From his earliest years he had 
a strange affection for wild animals. He would en- 
ter their cages without fear, and his influence over 
them was such that the boldest could not withstand 
it. They seemed fascinated by the powerful glance 
of his piercing eyes. His father was frightened at 
the peculiar and dangerous proclivities of his son, 
and did his best to restrain him, but without effect. 
Threats and blows were alike unavailing, and at 
length Batty fled to Africa to avoid the harsh treat- 
ment to which he was exposed. There for years, 
he led a wild and solitary life, and wandered from 
forest to forest, and from one savage tribe to 
another. His deeds of intrepidity were incredible 
in their audacity, and the rude sympathies of his 
restless and untamed nature found abundant grati- 
fication. Among the wild beasts of Africa he was 
perfectly at home, and he left them with regret. 
Some two or three years ago he made his appear- 



32 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

ance in Paris, that great caravanserai of the world, 
and he and his Hons were received with unbounded 
applause. His muscular development is wonderful, 
and in strength and agility he almost equals the fierce 
race with which so much of his life has been spent. 
He can run like a fawn, and leap like a leopard, 
and often it has been his fortune to struggle for life, 
as he has just done, face to face and shoulder to 
shoulder, and often has he gained the victory by 
sheer force of muscle. In spite of the severity and 
pahiftilness of his wounds, Batty would not see 
a physician. His persistent courage and solitary 
instincts led him to seclude himself, like a sick or 
wounded brute, from the rest of his species, and trust 
to the recuperative powers of nature. It would 
seem that this confidence has not been in vain, and 
his ow^n natural vigor has been, his only medicine. 

In spite of the mysterious attractions which the 
people always find in entertainments like those of 
Batty and Van Amburgh, it is very doubtful if their 
influence be good. They are flattering to our hu- 
manity, certainly, and, fortunately for the perform- 
ers, it seldom happens that any harm befalls them. 
The old Roman days have passed away, and w^e no 
longer enjoy the sight of a hundred Batty s, fighting 
for their lives with savage beasts, on the broad 
arena of some modern Coliseum. But still the 
effect of such spectacles, mitigated as they are in our 
age, is coarse and debasing. Their fascination arises 
from the greatness of the risk, and the chances of a 



BATTY AND THE BEASTS. 33 

sudden and unexpected tragedy. They simply min- 
ister to our rude and animal appetites. I was glad 
to notice that many of the Parisian papers were 
aroused by this last denouement to protest against 
the continuance of these performances, and call 
upon the police to interdict them. Some of them 
wrote upon the subject with great animation, and 
the editor of L' Epoque spoke in words of such in- 
dignant eloquence, that I cannot forbear giving 
them in full, and in the original dress. If they 
serve no other purpose, they may at least drive 
some of my readers unexpectedly to their dictiona- 
ries, and thus constrain them to '' entertain an angel 
unawares." 

" Je ne me figure pas qu'ime honnete mere de famille, qui 
pleure en voyant le sang couler d'une piqure faite au doigt de 
son enfant, assiste sans sourciller a une exhibition de betes 
feroces, y mene sa fille la jour oii elle a conge a sa pension. 
Ces spectacles-la sont bons pour les filles entretenues et 
leurs cocodes, qui n'ont rien dans la tete, et qui sont plus 
ineptes que les betes du dompteur. Cela iait battre le coeur 
aux jolies demoiselles, qu'on nomme maintenant des pieuvres, 
et leur procure une emotion identique a celle du coup de 
lansquenet sur lequel elles ont ponte. Cela ravit les cocodes 
qui, les pouces dans I'entournure de leur gilet k coeur, et le 
lorgnon colle a Toeil s'ecrient, ' L'raangera ! L'mangera pas ! ' 
Les jolies demoiselles revent la nuit de la tunique pailletee du 
dompteur, tandis que les cocodes s'ecrient en decoupant un 
perdreau, ' Dire qu'un jour son lion en fera autant de 
Batty!' Et les petits journaux, comme ils jubilent aux depens 
du dompteur ! Quelle mine de y)laisanteries faciles dans la 
lacliete du lion comparee a celle de I'homme ! 

'' Et regardez la justice distributive des huuiains. Chassaing 



34 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

qui tue les lions, Bombonnel, qui tue les pantlieres, sont des 
heros ; Batty, qui les dompte, n'est qu'un saltimbanque ; il est 
vrai qu'il se fait tuer par eux, et il y a peut-etre la encore un 
million de plaisanteries charmantes. 

" Riez ! riez ! tant que vous voudrez ; le pauvre dompteur 
en mourra peut-etre ; mais qu'importe ! il faut distraire les 
ennuyes ! 

" A qui le tour maintenant ? " 

Many persons are of opinion that the morals of 
Paris — or rather the amiable pretenses to which 
this word is by courtesy applied — are going to the 
dogs. This view has lately gained an adherent in 
the person of M. Alexandre Dumas, the younger, 
and if his attention has been called to the matter, 
it certainly is both natural and desirable that other 
people should be alarmed. The chaste and decor- 
ous author of La Dame aux Camelias thinks it 
quite time that something should be done for his 
unlucky city. " Is tliis a world to hide virtues in ? " 
said Sir Toby Belch, and so thinks this modern Lu- 
ther. He has conceived a plan, which, in a short 
time, will obviously make of Paris a New Jerusalem, 
and nobly offers it to the public. He says : " Upon 
the bases of all the statues, upon the svimmits of all 
the monuments, in each of the great squares and 
places of resort throughout the capital, I would have 
engraved in large letters, not only the chief articles 
of the Code Napoleon, but the maxims of Theophras- 
tus, of Seneca, Marcus Aurelius, Jesus Christ, Con- 
fucius, of all those, in short, who have discovered 
and published formulas of moral truth useful to 



BATTY AND THE BEASTS. 35 

humanity. Paris should be, in fact, not merely a 
great and beautiful city, but a great and beautiful 
book. With us there is no moral tone. We give 
instructions for the stomach, the feet, the hands, 
the whole body, in truth, but nothing for the soul. 
Children are inquisitive, and they would naturally 
be eager to learn to read, that they might know the 
meaning of the writing on the wall, and would 
thus become true men and worthy citizens, even 
while at their plays." 

This plan, if thoroughly carried out, will doubt- 
less be attended with complete success. The me- 
tropolis will resemble a Belshazzar's feast, with the 
part of Belshazzar omitted ; Moses and the prophets 
will appear again in spite of Bishop Colenso ; and 
M. Alexandre Dumas, the younger, will deliver long 
lectures upon the Seventh Commandment to large 
and enthusiastic cono;reo;ations. Paris will become 
wholly virtuous, and there shall be no more cakes 
and ale. Theodore Parker shall dwell with Con- 
fucius, and Theophrastus shall lie down with Tom 
Paine ; Seneca and Solomon and M. Renan together, 
and Marcus Aurelius shall lead them. A new mil- 
lennium is about to dawn upon the world, and M. 
Alexandre Dumas, fils, is our fortunate guide, 
Joshua-like, to lead us into the land of milk and 
honey for which our despairing souls have long 
yearned. " Oh, wherefore have these things been 
hid? Wherefore have these gifts had a curtain 
before them ? " Happy are the Parisians, and thrice 



36 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

happy are we, who hve in the days of this new 
and pregnant revelation ! How httle could we 
imagine the source from which it was to come ! 
But yesterday we could believe nothing ; now we 
can believe everything. Thanks to the virtuous 
Dumas, Peter and Paul will still hold their own, 
and not be obliged to resign their seats to the 
author of " Les Apotres," while the Christian reli- 
gion will not yet be annihilated. 



CHAPTER IV. 

PARIS AND THE MUSES. 

The literati of Paris have been quite active of 
late, even for tliem, and its inhabitants are not 
likely to perish for want of mental food, such as it 
is. The bookstores are teeming with a hundred 
new novels and plays, and a thousand notices of 
more to come. Whatever other imputation may be 
cast upon the French writers of to-day, no man who 
has the slightest regard for truth, will undertake to 
charge them with indolence. They work with a 
will, and the results are prodigious. When the 
prophetic wisdom of Solomon led him to say " Of 
making many books there is no end," it is very pos- 
sible that he had the French litterateurs in mind 
at the time. Really, the grand climax seems to be 
approaching, if it be not already reached, in our 
day. The deluge of printed matter which Paris 
alone has rained down during the last quarter of a 
century, from the eight hundred volumes of Alex- 
andre Dumas, senior, to the solitary bantling of 
Charles Baudelaire, which a prudish government so 
ruthlessly throttled, ere it had well made its way out 
of the Qgg^ has been vast enough to cover the whole 



38 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES 

world and swallow it up, ark and all, were it not 
for the beneficent aid of the pastry-cook and the 
trunk-maker. Let the shelves of the Imperial 
Library in this city, groaning under the weight of 
over 2,000,000 books and pamphlets, bear witness, 
at least as far as they go, to the truth of this. 

It is the inborn misfortune of every Frenchman 
to think that he can do anything whatever that any 
one else can. His natural vanity and ambition are 
always leading him to try his hand at something 
that will make him conspicuous. This result, to be 
sure, often follows, but not in the way he had ex- 
pected. It is said that Lord Brougham, in his 
yovniger days, being pressed for money, prevailed 
upon Mr. Jeffrey, then editor of the " Edinburgh 
Review," to advance him a thousand pounds, which 
he was to repay in contributions to that periodical. 
He was as good as his word, and actually, within 
six months, wrote the whole of two successive 
issues, or one entire volume. The articles covered 
a wide variety of subjects, and ranged from an elab- 
orate treatise on the political economy of ancient 
Greece, to a comprehensive review, on seven closely 
printed pages, of the state of lithotomy at that time. 
This was very fair for an Englishman, especially for 
one who had ordinarily so many projects on hand 
as the Great Reformer, but nothing to the omnis- 
cient audacity of a Frenchman. He would not 
merely be glad to write on these subjects, but would 
jump at a chance of inventing a new theory of 



PARIS AND THE MUSES. 39 

political economy and putting it into execution, or 
of performing the somewhflt difficult and hazardous 
operation above referred to, himself. If both failed, 
as they would be likely to, he would simply say 
" mais la conception etait magnijique^''^ and not allow 
his serene magnanimity to be disturbed for an 
instant. It is, very naturally, in literature that tliis 
weakness finds its broadest development. Every 
subject of Napoleon thinks he has a natural genius 
for writing, and considers it as easy to make a book 
as to make love, or stir the fire. This is easily 
tested. Place a pen in his hand and you will prove 
the truth of it. It is like turnino; the cock of a full 
reservoir. An abundant stream at once flows forth. 
It may be pure and clear ; it may be the stalest of 
all stale water. It may burst out like a vigorous jet, 
enlivening and beautifying all around ; it may be a 
turbid current, thick as lava and slow as mud ; but 
the supply never for a moment ceases, and it will 
continue to run on till the force of circumstances 
compels it to stop. It never would stop, if it de- 
pended on the author himself, but luckily no man can 
go on writing and publishing forever, if the public 
don't mind him, unless he has means to pay for the 
publication of his works himself, and so a providen- 
tial limit has been put to all such performances. 
When a French novelist, however, has once secured 
the ear of the people, he uses his advantage to the 
utmost. He works day and night without cessation 
while he lives, and leaves behind him not only 



40 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

scores of printed works, but a dozen volumes of mS- 
moires in manuscript, to be let loose upon the world 
after his death. Some wise man has remarked 
that a book is an author's second self. If this be 
true, its application nowadays is fearfully suggest- 
ive. To say nothing of the numerous smaller fry, 
think of M. Alexandre Dumas eicrht hundred times 
multiplied, and figure up the result, if you can ! It 
is no wonder that this literary giant is so swollen 
and puffed up, that he has found Italy too small for 
him, and has been obliged to return to France for 
sufficient room to expand himself to the limits 
necessary for his existence. Said Doctor Johnson, 
when informed that Miss Knight, the writer of 
" Dinarbas," was about to leave England and settle 
in France, " She is right, sir ; Miss Knight is too 
big for an island." Evidently this was Dumas' 
opinion of himself, when restricted to Italy. 

The majority of French novels are weak and 
superficial to an extreme. Their influence is gen- 
erally bad, since they are often written for the pur- 
pose of satisfying an unhealthy appetite. Those 
who read the most of them are the most to be pitied, 
for the more morbid the craving becomes and the 
worse the digestion, after each repast. It is like 
dining on tarts and candy. Their eflFect is widely 
injurious, and sinks deeply into many a young 
mind with corrupting taint. The evil that they 
do permeates the whole land, and lives long after 
they have done their ill work. Unluckily, the 



PARIS AND THE MUSES. 41 

most talented of this class of writers are the most 
unscrupulous, and use their best abilities to make 
their unwholesome fare palatable. Among them is 
M. Alexandre Dumas, fils., whom I have just men- 
tioned as having come forward as a sort of purveyor 
of morals for his fellow-citizens, with the design of 
guiding the rising generation gently up the some- 
what arduous ascent that leads to the Temple of 
Virtue. His proposals have not been received 
with that deference which is generally awarded 
to the popular favorite, and the people look with 
coolness upon his plan for inscribing the Ten Com- 
mandments and extracts from the works of Marcus 
Aurelius along the boulevards and in the vicinity 
of the Jardin Mabille. Probably the Parisians, 
seeincr no sig-ns of a divine revelation in the teach- 
ings of their new Moses, prefer to dance a little 
longer round their golden calf without interruption. 
Meanwhile M. Dumas has been occupying his phil- 
anthropic leisure with the composition of a fresh 
book. Considering the tendency and tone of the 
author's late suggestions, it has somewhat startled 
the public to find what it contains. It might rea- 
sonably have been expected to be a volume of 
sermons, or perchance of treatises taking high moral 
ground and intended for the general purification of 
the world. You may imagine every one's disap- 
pointment, however, when it proved to be a novel, 
and about as pernicious as even the varied tal- 
ents of the writer could plan. As one of his 



42 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

critics has truly said, '''-Tout le talent de Vauteur du 
^ Demi-Monde^ est Id.''' Unhappily, this remark is 
trebly dyed with truth, which is more than can be 
affirmed of most French critiques. 

In spite of the regret of M. Dumas' friends, 
they have devoted themselves to the work with 
such assiduity, that an edition of 5000 has already 
been exhausted, and another of the same number 
will soon appear. The title it bears is "L'Affaire 
ClemenQeau," and the heroine, Iza Clemengeau, is 
" a veritable moral monster." I use the words ad- 
visedly, for they are those by which the author 
himself describes her, "wn veritable monstre 7noraV^ 
This character, however, does not prevent her from 
being loved to adoration by a thousand devotees of 
beauty and wit, or from marrying an excellent man, 
or from cutting up generally afterwards and coming 
to grief in the style of Becky Sharp, whom she 
much resembles. She finally meets with an end 
sufficiently tragical, but by no means enough so to 
repair the mischief she has done, as is the case with 
heroines of this stamp in most cases. I have no 
space to give even a brief synopsis of her career, 
and perhaps it is just as well not to. Suffice it to 
say that Iza Clemen^eau is La Dame aux Camelias., 
the heroine of the " Demi-Monde," and three or four 
more of M. Dumas' lady friends, combined into a 
new form and run into another mould, with several 
additional elements of wickedness so mixed up in 
her, as to form a sort of female Caliban. In her 



PARIS AND THE MUSES. 43 

composition the great truths which her author pro- 
poses to hang out in his native city, hke Macbeth' s 
banners, '^ on the outward walls," make a very 
poor show. And yet, I suppose M. Dumas, fils, 
would be disgusted, if any one were to intimate that 
his tale had no moral. Authors generally are 
shocked at such a criticism, as was the authoress of 
" Jane Eyre." I presume the moral of " L' Affaire 
Clemenceau " lies in its immorahty. Perhaps the 
writer designed Mile. Iza as a warning, and that a 
terrible one, of what the Parisians w^ill all come to, 
if they don't trot out Confucius, and Theophrastus, 
and Professor Renan on the Chayyips Elysees and 
the boulevards, and groAV great and \drtuous by 
their example. 

As a literary effort, " L' Affaire Clemenceau " is a 
wonderful success, and so far as merely such a qual- 
ity is concerned, it deserves its popularity. It is 
really an able work. The style is both clear and fas- 
cinating. The flow of thought is full and free, and 
the delineation of character is managed with tact and 
deep discernment. There is little or no verbiage, 
and every sentence either suggests some new idea, 
or advances the plot, so that the reader is almost 
irresistibly drawn on to the end. Many bright 
and spirited touches, much sarcasm, and no small 
amount of graphic description, lend additional 
charms to an interest that never flags. It is to a 
certain extent a philosophical romance, but not 
heavily so, and here and there sundry social prob- 



44 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

lems are interwoven with the story, and treated with 
considerable power both of language and thought. 
Obviously the offspring of a vigorous mind, " L' Af- 
faire Cl^men9eau " will greatly add to the writer's 
fame, and give him a still stronger claim upon his 
numerous admirers in France. 

As a slight illustration of M. Dumas' powers, I 
venture to give here a short description of a school 
of literati., which in the days of our grandfathers 
had a wide-spread popularity in certain circles : — 

" Among the women whose acquaintance I made at this 
ball, there was one who had manifested for me the greatest 
interest, Madame Lesperon, a lyric character, a blue stock- 
ing to tell the truth, mad in appearance, good at heart, and 
composing verses neither worse nor better than those which 
they were accustomed to make in those days, after the roman- 
tic style of Lamartine, Hugo, and De Musset. This school pro- 
duced for several years poets of whom nothing now remains, 
not even the ridicule which was to take the place of their 
mysterious fame. They were all inspired ; all had their 
secret grief, their unknown love. There was not one that 
did not conceal, under the tall weeds in the corner of some 
country cemetery, the latent tomb of some Elvira, whither he 
resorted to weep, while he questioned Heaven, blasphemed 
God, and prostrated himself on the earth, and then repeated a 
hymn to creation. The church bells, the stars, the clouds, 
the moon, shadows, dead bodies, and evening anthems were 
then the rage, and the consumption of them was beyond all 
bounds. 

" This poetical rapacity, this avidity of pathos, which em- 
braced a little of everything, Byron, Voltaire, Goethe, Kous- 
seau, Chateaubriand, and which needed only Moliere to im- 
mortalize its absurdity, demanded an outlet, and for that 



PARIS AND THE MUSES. 45 

purpose, enjoyed the use of the hotel Rambouillet and its 
dependencies. Thither every winter evening, from nine till 
midnight, to certain little salons Ufteraires, sundry humble 
satellites of Madame Recamier's star betook themselves. There, 
clinging to the mantel-piece with pale face, white eyes, dis- 
ordered hair, and a voice now choked with sobs, now lofty and 
sonorous, some poet, or poetess, showered around upon the 
heads, upturned and disarranged, of the aged Sapphos and 
youthful Corinnes of the place, his grand and puissant strains. 
Then came cries, tears, and bursts of enthusiasm. They shook 
hands, they embraced, — after which each drank a large glass 
of sugared water, and returned home. Madame Lesperon had 
at her house one of these famous saloons. She thought it nec- 
essary for her reputation to contest the influence of that tem- 
ple where the author of " Rene," with moody brow, fastidious 
look, his crown of laurels on his head, his " Memoires " in his 
hand, enveloped in the incense which an involuntary vestal 
burned at his feet, waited with no little impatience for the 
world to fall to pieces that he might enjoy a tomb worthy of his 
genius." 

Thougli this extract, of course, loses much by 
change of garb, yet it will give some slight idea of 
the vivacity of the author's descriptions and the 
brilliancy of his style, though to a healthy mind 
these will offer but a slight indemnity for the vi- 
cious sentiments of the work. 

Amono; the numerous rivals of M. Dumas for 
the popular favor is M. Gustave Droz. He has 
just published a charming work entitled " Monsieur, 
Madame et Beb^," which is full of the most delicate 
and attractive wit. One of the sketches is so thor- 
oughly characteristic and Frenchy, and so true to 
nature, that I am tempted to translate it. It relates 



46 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

to a certain fair dame of high social position, fond 
of show, but good in the main, whose great weak- 
ness was her extreme devotion to the pleasures of 
the table. She was especially feeble in presence of 
vin de Syracuse and certain irresistible little pates 
that were made by a fashionable pastry-cook. She 
had just been to obtain absolution from the conse- 
quences of this sin, and on retiring from the con- 
fessional went at once to her prie-Bieu^ where she 
prostrated herself for some moments, uttering mean- 
while a fervent and rapid prayer. 

" She felt herself relieved of a great weight, vivified, so to 
speak, and had it not been for the little blue watch which told 
her that her maid Louise was awaiting her at the dressmak- 
er's, on account of that unhappy robe, she would have re- 
mained a long time in contemplation before the purity of her 
soul, which inspired her with a just confidence. 

" Time passed on ; she slipped into her pocket various small 
articles, and particularly a coquettish little book with a clasp 
of gold, on which was inscribed, ' The Grove of Penitence ; 
or, Self-contemplation.' Putting on her gloves while still pros- 
trate, and without for one moment withdrawing her eyes from 
the crucifix, then lowering her veil and arranging the bow of 
her hat, she turned her face toward heaven and said ' Pardon, 
mon Dieu, for leaving you so soon, but I do not abandon you. 
An affair of importance, a rendezvous, — you know, mon Dieu, 
how important it is that such appointments should be kept.' 
Then making a very coquettish sign of the cross, no longer 
than that, she flew away light of heart, pure and- joyful. Her 
little pointed heels went paf ! paf ! over the great flag-stones 
of the church, and she delighted to hear the noise of her foot- 
steps repeated by the pious echoes of the place. She said to 
herself in a transport of enthusiasm, ' Yes, listen to my steps, 



PARIS AND THE MUSES. 47 

sacred echoes of the temple, for to-day I am pure as you ! 
What ecstasy to feel one's self an angel, and in truth how lit- 
tle it costs ! ' 

" Near the entrance stood her carriage. Upon a slight and 
infinitely sweet sign from her, the horses came up pawing 
the ground, and the valet de pied opened the door. She 
stepped in, and, with a voice perfectly unctuous with piety, 
said to her servant, who stood hat in hand, — 

" ' Drive where I told you ; Rue de la Paix.' 

" ' Will Madame stop at the pastry-cook's on the way ? ' 
hazarded the valet. 

" ' Hum-m,' hesitated the Countess at first, looking intently 
at her glove. Then all at once, with a firm voice, in which one 
could detect a shade of pride, she said, ' No, go directly.' 
Then placing her hand on the little book in her pocket, she 
murmured to herself: ' Merci, mon Dieu, I am an angel, and 
may I do nothing to soil my wings.' " 

This is the latest work of M. Droz, and it is not 
remarkable that it should be much read and ad- 
mired. It is not, however, his last ; one never sees 
the last of a French author, till he has been many 
years in his grave. He is now engaged on still 
another, and so is M. About, and M. Dumas, and 
M. Karr, and M. Noriac, and, in short, all the rest 
of the 3Iess{eurs, who spend their lives in deluging 
France with ink, smothering her with paper, and 
stabbing her with steel pens. 



CHAPTER V. 

THE FURKA PASS AND THE RHONE GLACIER. 

A FEW days after my arrival among the Alps, I 
came upon the traces of the Wandering Jew, of 
whom I had heard very little since I left Paris. 
Like that home of the wicked, Switzerland takes 
very kindly to this ancient sinner, and tradition 
preserves many a memento of his visits here from 
time to time. Like the Atlantic cable, his " insu- 
lation and continuity " have been perfect ever since 
be started on his unique career, and his course is 
not especially difficult to trace. It was on the 
Furka Pass, that I first fell in with him. This is a 
fearfully dreary road through a mountain gorge 
leading from Hospenthal to the Valley of the Rhone 
and the glacier in whose bosom that mighty river 
takes its rise. Once in a few ages, the popular 
story in this land relates, he leaves Mount Pilatus, 
on the Lake of Lucerne, from whose rocky peak 
that chief of all transgressors cast himself down, and 
whither Ahasuerus is drawn by an irresistible fasci- 
nation, and directs his ill-omened steps towards 
Italy. Through many a lonely and snowy pass ; 
beneath many a beetling and threatening precipice, 



THE FURKA PASS AND PJIONE GLACIER. 49 

whose sombre walls lie calls upon in vain to cover 
him from avenging wrath ; by many avalanches 
which other sinners might try in vain to escape, but 
which hang suspended till he has gone by ; over 
glaciers whose crevasses will not swallow him up ; 
by deep and fearful seas of the dead, and lonely 
tarns, paved with the bones of the lost, but which 
deny him the refuge he seeks ; his hoary form still 
wends its fatal way on, and on, and on toward the 
great resurrection, when even he shall learn his 
doom. His awful tale, ti)ld from mouth to mouth, 
when the thick darkness of the Middle Ages cov- 
ered the land ; whispered from monk to monk in 
secluded cloisters, or with picturesque minuteness 
and quaint diablerie interwoven with the margins 
of illuminated missals ; haunting the nuns as in 
their living tombs they " chanted faint hymns to 
the cold, fruitless moon ; " dimly intimated by 
rural priests to their shuddering flocks, — has come 
down to us from the long vista of the past, and the 
bright radiance of modern intelligence seeks in vain 
to efface it. Even now it is told by the shuddering 
rustics of this country over their wintry firesides, 
and " der ewiger Jude " — " the eternal Jew " — is 
the avenging demon who rides on the whirlwind 
and directs the storm, and whose accursed footsteps 
blight everything over or near which they go. The 
Furka is his favorite route, and thrice already have 
his feet profaned it. At first it was a fruitful and 
happy valley, smiling with luxuriant fields of grain. 



50 CONTISENTAL SKETCHES. 

When next lie trod its steep ascent, it was covered 
with compact masses of snow and ice. The third 
time he appeared, and nothing but the barrenness 
of desolation was left behind and closed around 
him, CA^en as the waves of the Dead Sea swallowed 
up the cities of his native land. 

Certainly, whether one believes in this tradition 
or not, all will admit that the Furka Pass is well 
chosen as the scene of one of its phases. A more 
disconsolate and unattractive route can nowhere 
else be found, even in this land of snow and rocks. 
There is nothing to excite the slightest interest on 
the way, not even the usual accompaniment of dis- 
tant peaks brightly beckoning us forward and smil- 
ing, like hope, in the long perspective. The path 
is " cabined, cribbed, confined " on every side, and 
the traveller can see it stretching far before him in 
endless monotony all the way to the top. This is 
especially aggravating, for the eyes easily devour 
the way which the dyspeptic feet are slow to digest. 
At the summit of these ten weary, up-hill miles, is 
an inn, where fainting tourists meet to recruit their 
exhausted faculties, and take doses of milk, small 
talk, sour wine and other consolation, before pro- 
ceeding to the Glacier of the Rhone. Luckily, the 
first glimpse of this imposing miracle of nature is to 
be had within fifteen minutes from the house, and it 
is not remarkable that most travellers are impressed 
with it, as Luther was at his first view of the dome 
of St. Peter's, and are almost ready to kneel and 



THE FURKA PASS AND RHONE GLACIER. 51 

worship at a shrine so glorious. From a broad 
gorge at one side of the Galenstock — 12,000 feet 
high — whose summit overhangs and partly sup- 
plies the vast masses of ice that form it, this glacier 
flows forth like a gigantic cataract, a Niagara of ice, 
a swelling Ganges suddenly congealed in its heav- 
enly descent. Leaving the white and glittering 
snow-beds of the mountains behind, it halts for a 
moment on the edge of a rocky abyss, and then 
plunges forward. At the crest of the fall the fract- 
ured ice is splintered into a thousand picturesque 
and eccentric shapes, and offers the varied semblance 
of tower and battlement, pinnacle and spire, minaret 
and obelisk. Soon again condensing, its shape 
spreads broadly, as it advances toward the valley, 
and finally, fan-shaped, disperses itself in the m3^riad 
rivulets that unite to give birth to the infant Rhone. 
Of the grandeur and splendor of this spectacle it 
would be impossible to speak in fitting terms. An 
Ossa of words, piled upon a PeHon of ideas, would 
fail to impress it upon the mind. It is as if Nature, 
who ever pours her bounties forth with such a frill 
and unwithdrawing hand, had chosen this majestic 
solitude for the display of all that her lavish powers 
could do to adorn her reign. Graceful must be the 
lips and eloquent the tongue, that can transmute 
her labors into becoming language, or give them a 
worthy voice. And it is not merely the barren 
magnificence of the icy torrent, its stupendous size, 
its vast expanse, the gigantic ribs, like the outcrop- 



62 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

ping frame-work, the skeleton of the earth itself, 
that fascinate and overpower the mind. Every feat- 
ure around seems in harmony with it, and as if 
rejoicing to do its utmost to lend an additional 
charm. Rocky precipices look down upon it with 
meditative admiration ; dark green pines, tlie mon- 
archs of the forest, cluster around and fringe its 
snowy crust ; verdant herbage and many-colored 
flowers approach confidingly to its very edge ; the 
heartsease and the violet, the cyclamen and the 
fragile bluebell, look down fearlessly into its depths, 
and Ariel might swing safely over its profoundest 
crevasse ; sparkling rivulets trickle and gurgle here 
and there upon its surface, and play at hide-and-seek 
in a thousand furrows that their industry has hol- 
loaed out of its cold blue grandeur ; the beauty 
which hourly blossoms in the sky, there finds an 
abiding-place ; and, in changeful days, the clouds 
gather around its crest and unfold the whole pano- 
rama of elemental imagery, from dark rolling storm- 
clouds, with hearts of thunder, to those white ethe- 
real shadows which flit to and fro, the fairies of the 
air ; the moon at night illumines its white breast, the 
star " that crowns the smiling morn with its bright 
circlet" glitters at intervals among the pinnacles 
that form its tiara, the sun at evening casts its last 
rays upon it, and drapes it in colored glories 
from the western heights. In this colossal and re- 
splendent temple of Nature, the " chief things of the 
ancient mountains and the precious things of the 



TEE FVRKA PASS AND RHONE GLACIER. 53 

lasting hills" find a fitting home. In its silent 
majesty, it seems the abode of peace and purity like 
that of heaven. With the snow-covered cliffs above, 
it typifies the New Jerusalem at the foot of the 
great white throne, while from it flows the river of 
the water of life. 

At a short distance from the base of the glacier 
is a hotel of good size, and offering comfortable ac- 
commodations to the numei'ous travellers that resort 
to it. It is a single brightening feature, a reminder 
of home and domestic pleasures, a welcome beacon 
light amidst all this rocky isolation. Like most 
other Swiss hotels, it is well kept ; and the motto, 
Sta viator, over the door, is entirely unnecessary, 
for few need any persuasion to stop. And here I 
cannot refrain from bestowing some words of praise 
upon the houses of this class that are so widely 
scattered over many lofty and inaccessible sites 
throughout this country. In every locality they are 
almost invariably well managed, and I never, in the 
course of numerous journeys in all directions, met 
with a single instance of discourtesy or inattention. 
Often they are situated from five thousand even to 
eight thousand feet above the sea-level ; frequently 
their supplies of bread, wood, meat and other neces- 
saries of life must be brought ten miles, or more, 
over ice and rocky paths upon the backs of men. 
Their proprietors are obliged to run all the risks of 
long spells of inclement weather, when no guests re- 
sort to them, and incur a thousand expenses of which 



54 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

no one thinks. Yet their charges are always moder- 
ate, and but little more than those on lower ground. 
A breakfast of coffee, bread and butter, and honey 
costs thirty cents in gold ; dinner, from forty to sixty 
cents, and tea the same as the breakfast. Dinner al- 
ways consists of at least soup, three courses of meat, 
with a pudding and fruit, and the fare is invariably 
good. For a room one pays thirty cents, and twenty 
for the domestics. A candle is generally from ten 
to twenty cents. For tw^o dollars in gold per day a 
tourist can live at the best Swiss hotel as long as he 
pleases, and if he will agree to stay a week or more, 
any landlord will accommodate him for a dollar 
and a half, and often for less, and these prices 
never change ; to my certain knowledge, they are 
the same now that they were fifteen years ago. 
Contrast these with the hotel charges of our own 
country. The inn on the top of Mount Washing- 
ton, which is only six thousand feet high and easily 
approachable by a good road, demands six dollars 
for every twenty-four hours that a guest spends 
there. One may go to bed in a Pacific of fog, and 
get up in an Atlantic of clouds, and lose as good a 
set of teeth as any Boston dentist ever made in 
trying to masticate an under-done potato, and, af- 
ter all, he can't aflPord to stav there lono; enough to 
digest the vegetable, or to trust the chances of a 
better view. A good story is told of Sir Walter 
Scott and an innkeeper who had just erected a new 
house on the site of the battle of Flodden Field. He 



THE FURKA PASS AND RHONE GLACIER. 55 

quite naturally wrote to the author of " Marmion " 
for a motto to place over the entrance. The poet 
sent him the very apt one, — 

"Drink, weary pilgrim, drink and p(r)ay." 

If our own Bonifaces, who receive strangers with so 
much gilded courtesy, who, like Mr. Mould, " do 
good by stealth and blush to have it mentioned in 
their little bills," would only run up this signal as a 
suggestion to their guests of what was coming, it 
would be a public benefit. It is very different, 
however, in Switzerland, and I do not know a coun- 
try where a traveller receives so much for his 
money as here, or where the entertainment is, as 
Skittler said of his boiled potatoes, so " fillin' at the 
price." 

Many, perhaps most, of the Swiss inns, and 
especially in the smaller villages, have inscriptions 
in prose, or verse, under the eaves, or over the 
entrance. Sometimes these are from Holy Writ, 
sometimes from Schiller, or other poets. They are 
always patriotic, or otherwise elevating in their 
sentiments, and are often no way inconsistent with 
the hospitality one finds within their walls. The 
primitive simplicity of such rustic hostelries often 
reminded me of similar houses in England ; those, 
for example, where Shenstone was so warmly wel- 
comed that he has immortalized them in his famous 
quatrain, — but which have largely disappeared be- 
fore the onward march of railroads, and the results 



56 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

of a practical and unromantic civilization. I call 
to mind with interest the tavern at Ashbourne, kept 
by " a mighty civil gentlewoman," where Boswell 
once stopped. At his departure, the hostess pre- 
sented him with an engraving of her establishment, 
to which the following address was subjoined : — 
'' M. Killingley's duty w^aits upon Mr. Boswell ; is 
exceedingly obliged to him for this favor ; Avhen- 
ever he comes this way, hopes for the continuance 
of the same. Would Mr. Boswell name the house 
to his extensive acquaintance, it would be a singu- 
lar favor conferred on one who has it not in her 
power to make any other return, but her most 
grateful thanks and sincerest prayers for his happi- 
ness in time, and in a blessed eternity." These 
words are in obvious and healthy contrast with 
those that some years ago were visible on the front 
of a little rural den at the roadside in the Lake 
District. This bore the odd title of " The Mortal 
Man," and some neighboring artist had done his 
best to hmn the features of the said mortal above 
the door. The gift of a generation long past, this 
portrait, battered and worn by many a storm, still 
predominated over these lines : — 

" O Mortal Man, who livest on bread, 
What is 't that makes th}- nose so red? — 
Thou silly ass, that looks so pale, 
It is with drinking Birkett's ale." 

At my last visit to Ambleside both inn and 
poetry had vanished, but I could not help thinking 



THE FURKA PASS AND RHONE GLACIER. 57 

of the change that had come over England In the 
matter of travelling accommodations, since they 
were first set up, and how little increase of real 
comfort had been derived from the present high 
charges and frigid civility. 

As I looked upon the mighty mass of the glacier 
that lay spread out before me, tranquil, majestic, 
apparently motionless, yet ever advancing with 
resistless step, I could not help thinking that it 
offered a fitting illustration of the onward progress 
of my own country. Taking Its origin far back In 
the past amid scenes of tumult and confusion ; 
agitated by rude and untamed passions which drive 
it none can tell whither ; slowly solidifying itself 
and or^thering; about It the elements of streno;th : 
seemingly barren and unfruitful, yet containing 
within Itself the germs of future prosperity ; it 
gradually draws into one broad and all-embracing 
channel the full force of rough and youthful vigor, 
and presses on in the fiill confidence of an hereafter 
rich with unalloyed success. Urged by Its destiny, 
the Infant glacier, like the new-born nation, con- 
fidingly leaves the threshold where stand tower- 
ing and snow-covered peaks, like white-haired 
fathers, to give it God-speed, and moves on 
in sanguine hope. Yet its advance Is not unim- 
peded. Ere long It is harassed by many an impos- 
ing and fearful trial, and all its young strength is 
needed to overcome the obstacles that threaten its 
integrity. Giant cliffs press down upon It, and 



58 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

mountain slopes shower on it rocks and boulders ; 
narrow gorges arrest its advance, and mighty but- 
tresses stand in its way ; rifts and crevasses here 
and there penetrate to its very vitals ; yet still on 
it goes, groaning with the pain of its wounds, 
trembling at the assaults of its enemies, scarred 
and seamed with the hardships of the conflict, yet 
never for a moment thinkino; of retreat. Some of 
the impediments it forces from the path by its in- 
domitable strength ; others it bears along with it. 
The avalanches that have hurled themselves down, 
like the torrent of a mighty invasion, it absorbs 
into itself, and invigorates its own power by their 
fierce fury, thus guiding a warlike horde into the 
current of peace. Ere long its scars are healed, 
and quietly it moves to where the more genial and 
softening influences of light and heat breathe upon 
it, and, like the progress of ci\ihzation, mitigate the 
chilling and blighting frosts of the Iron Age. But 
one more trial awaits it. Before it lies a gigantic 
abyss from whose edge is no retreat. Mighty 
throes, as of a great people in its agony, convulse 
its very depths, and utter ruin threatens its shat- 
tered and dismembered trunk. For a space terrible 
is the struggle, and direful the evidences of the 
conflict. But soon even this is passed, and its 
whole expanse broadens into the frdl sunlight of 
assured prosperity. 

And now, gentle and abundant streams flow 
across its surface, or down its sides, and here and 



THE FURKA PASS AND RHONE GLACIER. 59 

there mould deep and placid pools. No longer Is Its 
crust harsh and sharp, but soft and yielding to the 
step. It enlarges into stately form and size, and 
Its unruffled slope glides peacefully Into the valley. 
At Its edo;es p;row abundant flowers and luxuriant 
herbage, while from Its base springs an exulting and 
aboundiiio; river, flowino; ever onward towards the 
sea. Looklncr back it reo-ards the scene of mortal 
struggle, and lo ! it is radiant with the light of 
Immortal victory achieved In a glorious cause ; 
while behind It still appear the venerable patriarchs 
that begot it, and who yet Impart the beneficence 
of their early gifts. So do the fathers of our own 
land from the heaven of their exceeding peace look 
down upon us now, blessing us with the blessing of 
Jacob, even to the utmost bound of the everlasting 
hills. Still from the serene heio;hts where their 
own virtues have placed them, from the Immortal- 
ity In which they shine, like kindred stars, they 
watch over us, and tranquilly waft their benediction 
over the land they loved and for which they died. 
Happy are they that we have not proved unworthy 
of the inheritance they bequeathed to us. Heaven 
grant that we may prove no less worthy of it in the 
future. 



CHAPTER VI. 

EN ROUTE. 

" The good old times " of Carlyle and his retro- 
spective admirers are dead, and have taken many 
of their unpalatable truths to the grave with them. 
No one is more likely to have this brought to his 
notice than the traveller of to-day. In spite of poets 
and modern philosophers, we dare to be thankful that 
we have the advantage over our predecessors and 
can take comfort on the wing. In this matter " de- 
cidement a nous est le pompon.'''' We have eschewed 
the legacy they left us of dust, mud, close and dirty 
diligences, wretched roads, impracticable passes, 
bad food, extortionate servants, thievish landlords, 
clumsy and drunken di'ivers, and all the riff-raff 
that used to infest the highwa}^ fifty years ago. 
Your modern traveller is a very Sybarite, and the 
merest creature of luxury and refinement, compared 
with his forefathers. Hair-breadth escapes and per- 
ilous dangers are to the great majority only tradi- 
tions, or to be found in the works of Dr. Living- 
stone and Captain Speke. The tourist glides along 
from station to station in a monotonous and unpict- 
xiresque way. He is seated in a comfortable arm- 



EN ROUTE. 61 

cliair, and looks out upon a rapidly changing pros- 
pect through the clearest of plate-glass. If he is n't 
beguiled Into falling asleep, he Is an exceptional 
case. When our grandslres journeyed, the word 
meant something. They bundled themselves up, 
made their wills, and prepared for the worst. If 
they reached home hi safety, their friends gave 
them an ovation such as the Romans offered to Cae- 
sar. 

Nowadays, one who has only travelled from Paris 
to Lucerne, for example, has nothing whatever to 
say, and. In fact, has very little Impression of any 
sort left upon his mind. Four hundred miles in six- 
teen hours through a pleasant country, the broad 
fields of France opening out on either hand, and 
that is all. One day at Paris, the next at Lucerne, 
and the whole interval a confused whirl of sound, 
motion, chatter, with an occasional stoppage to eat 
and drink. Veteran tourists go to sleep ; younger 
ones read the last novel or scan the guide-book, and 
those who cannot kill time in either of these ways, 
do as much conversation as the noise of the car- 
wheels will let them. As all the world knows, the 
French are very clever talkers, and any little inci- 
dent will produce chatter enough to turn a wind- 
mill. They are always in a bright, cheei-ful atmos- 
phere, and compared with other nations, they are 
like the foam of champagne to the wine itself. 
Commend me to a Frenchwoman for conversation. 
When constrained to be silent, she is as uncomfort- 



62 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

able as St. Lawrence on his gridiron. Let th? 
words once begin to flow forth, and her whole de- 
meanor changes. The plain and unattractive female 
becomes fall of ladyhke graces, and shines the queen 
of the hour. In the course of ten minutes she will 
say a score of piquant and witty things, and keep 
every one around her in a state of the most pleas- 
urable excitement. And then the fluency and ra- 
pidity of her speech ! I never heard women chatter 
so fast as in France, or so much. They have a 
witty proverb in that country, " In what month do 
the women talk the least ? The month of February, 
because it is the shortest." It is said that the good 
Father Andre, an excellent man, but disposed to 
tell unwholesome truths, and jump at conclusions, 
remarked quaintly from the pulpit, " My brethren, 
Christ appeared first to women after the resurrec- 
tion, that the fact might be sooner and more widely 
known." 

But one incident occurred to vary the routine of 
my journey. In one apartment of a carriage were 
only two people, a man and a woman. At one of 
the stations, a hand was waved from the window 
and the blushing face of the latter was seen with 
signs of great distress. The conductor answers her 
signal and runs to the side of the car. 

" Oh, the miserable fellow to insult an unpro- 
tected lady ! Would you believe that Monsieur 
had the impudence to say to me " — 

Here a burst of tears and sobs checked her voice. 



EN ROUTE. 63 

" Well, Madam, what did he say ? Be calm, if 
you please, for tlie train is ready to start." 

" He said — he s-s-said that he would give me a 
mahogany bureau if I would agree to m-m-m-marry 
him. Oh, the villain ! the r-r-rascal. Man Dieu^ 
Mon Bieu, Mon Dh 



leu 1 



/" 



" You can make a complaint against him, if you 
wish," said the guard, producing his tablets and 
preparing to take down an elaborate description of 
persons and places, when he was not a little discom- 
fited to hear the fair traveller remark in an under- 
tone, as if speaking to herself, — 

"Oh, the brute ! mahogany ! If it had only been 
rosewood, now!" Thereupon the conductor shut 
up his papers and left the plaintiff to finish her case 
as she best might. 

The present system of journeying is the natural 
oif spring of an avaricious age. Nowadays every- 
thing is based on a solid foundation of cash. Men 
travel thousands of miles to make money, and then 
take infinite pleasure in travelhng thousands of 
miles firther to spend it. And so a healthy and 
vigorous circulation is kept up : we rub each other's 
angles smooth in the social mill, and the sharp fric- 
tion only polishes us, till modern civilization can see 
her face in our own. Here we go up, up, up ; and 
there we go down, down, down ; and the dollars fly, 
and the world rolls round, and we are all whisked 
along, we hardly know whither. Riches can do 
anything, and this age has proved it. What are 



6i CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

tlie elements, or precipices, or masses of rocks, or 
towering Alps, when pitted against the " slave of 
the dark and dirty mine ! " The men of this gen- 
eration have proved their cupidity, and Switzer- 
land has received and is now receiving the benefit 
of it. The people are a little tainted with the wor- 
ship of the golden calf, and will descend as deep 
and mount as high as any one for it. Everybody 
has heard the story of the dispute between the 
French and the Swiss officer. Said the former, 
" Your people fight for wealth, mine for glory." 
" Each fights for wdiat they are the most in want 
of," was the well put retort. And this is certainly 
true as a national trait. One can't be here a day 
without seeing a dozen examples of it. Offer a 
Swiss baby a piece of gilded gingerbread and a sou^ 
and he will drop the former and hug the latter with 
infantile parsimony. 

I was amused at the style in which a similar view 
was expressed in a work I lately read. Said the 
speaker, — they were talking of attempting the 
top of some monstrously high and break-neck peak, 
— " Give me money enough, and I will go up 
every possible mountam in Switzerland. I would 
write beforehand to all the guides to meet me, say 
at Geneva, and engage them for the season. I 
would put them into uniform with cocked hats. I 
would march up the great Aletsch glacier with a 
brass band, and be carried to the top of Mont Blanc 
in a stuffed chair. I would do every great ascent 



EN ROUTE. 65 

of the season, and leave the proud chmbing world 
guideless below. Had I the money," he continued, 
" I would blast a hole into the middle of the Mat- 
terhorn, and set masons to cut me an internal stair- 
case. I would have this protected by mahogany 
banisters and laid with Brussels carpet. Footmen 
in rich liveries should wait at the landing-places 
with refreshments while I went up. When my 
spiral staircase came out at the top, I would have a 
weather-proof room built with plate-glass windows, 
and look at the view from the summit as I lay upon 
a sofa." This has a somewhat foolish sound to stay- 
at-home people, and yet, judging of the future by 
the past, one can easily infer that the Swiss would 
at least make the attempt to do it, if they could 
only catch a glimpse of the gold that was to pay 
them for their trouble. 

At the beginning of August, what is popularly 
termed the Swiss season is approaching its zenith, 
and the towering summits of the Alps are looking 
down upon the long caravans of travellers that 
wriggle along at their feet like so many ants. 
Americans and English, they are now pervading 
the whole land in swarms. High on the hill-tops, 
low down in the valleys, wherever a view can 
be gained of mountain crest or dark blue lake, 
snowy avalanche or glittering glacier, thither they 
resort in crowds, anxious only for the most part to 
" do " everything that anybody else has done before 
them. There are now, and, I suppose, always will 



6Q CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

be plenty of the ordinary class of travellers ; those 
who move from one grand caravanserai to another 
in a luxurious and dainty way, and are to Switzer- 
land what Jupiter was to Danae. There are and 
will ever be, I fancy, thousands of puffy and pursy 
papas, dragged from their comfortable firesides by 
their ambitious children to lead an aggravating and 
will-o'-the-wisp life for a month or six weeks ; 
hundreds of mammas and elderly dowagers, fearful 
of cold, and neuralgia, and the cholera, and damp 
strangers ; plenty of prim Minervas who " dare do 
all that may become a woman," who never had 
the chance to say Yes, who look like the Ten Com- 
mandments bound in boards, and preside over scores 
of young ladies in waterfalls and pink parasols, gush- 
ing all over like Miss Pecksniff at the sight of an 
Alpine rose, or a chamois horn ; no end of young 
men who cross the easiest passes, stop at the various 
chalets on the way, patronize the scenery with quiet 
nonchalance and call for beer, or goat's milk. All 
these will, perhaps for ages, still continue to gather 
round the various dinner tables at evening and 
relate what they call their adventures, and worry 
the Avaiters with a Babel of outlandish gabble. 

Such dilettanti voyagers are well enough in 
their way. They serve to keep conversation in 
motion at home, and they go to Switzerland, as 
Mrs. Potiphar went to Paris, to do the same thing 
there. They'll talk it all over again in the long 
winter evenings, and obnubilate their friends and 



EN ROUTE. 67 

country cousins who never went anywhere. The 
papas will tell it at their clubs, and everybody must 
believe what they say, because it is n't polite to 
contradict. The wheels will revolve with no end 
of clack, the conversational sawdust will fly, and the 
whole trip will be done over again in a way to 
amaze the world around. Matilda will describe 
now a gust of wind carried her new hat down a 
slope of the Wengem Alp into a crevasse. Mamma 
vill tell how bad the coffee was at the Hotel Belvi- 
iere, and papa will confirm it all, with an addi- 
tional bit of advice to every one present not to 
cross the Brunio; Pass without a bottle of cold tea 
to prevent rheumatism, " for it 's over three thou- 
sand five hundred feet high, by Jove ; and no one 
can tell what might happen." Here the old gent, 
puts on his glasses, takes down his Murray, refers 
to the index at the letter B, picks out the word 
Brunig, triumphantly points to the words " 3668 
feet above the sea-level," and then falls asleep with 
a " You see I was right, my dear ; it was there we 
found our warming-pan had been left at the Hdtel 
des Alpes. I don't doubt the landlord pocketed it 
before we went off." 

At the present day travelling has been moulded 
into a very complete and elaborate system. It is 
in Switzerland, the head-quarters of voyagers ^ar ex- 
cellence, that it has attained its greatest development, 
and works with the most complete success. Every- 
ching that money can purchase, or labor secure, 



68 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

is now provided here for tourists, and the Swiss 
have amply satisfied themselves that there is more 
to be gained from the pm^ses of foreigners, than 
from all the grass and cattle, butter and cheese, 
which they can raise in a century. All who wish to 
migrate profitably can do so, at least as far as their 
brains are concerned; and thanks to Murray's 
guide-books, with a Kttle infusion of Baedeker, one 
can imbibe a large encyclopaedia of useful informa- 
tion in a very short time. Murray is a sort of 
pilgrim's ark, painted red and admirably fitted to 
carry everybody everywhere with comfort and 
safety. Here can be found what all the world 
thought and wrote on the subject of travelling, 
from Bacon's Essay to Walker's Original, from 
Marco Polo to Baron Munchausen. Here are neat 
quotations from Othello and his " moving accidents 
by flood and field," deftly dovetailed into the text 
side by side with the breathing thoughts and burn- 
ing words of Byron. Here are all the " feats of 
high emprise " that ever illuminated this land, duly 
chronicled, from the heroic battles of Sempach and 
Morat, down to the last opinion as to whether 
Wilham Tell ever lived at all, or whether the whole 
story may not be a modern adaptation of the ancient 
fable of Minerva springing fi'om the head of Jupiter, 
and afterwards receiving an apple of the latest style 
(a haute nouveaute^ in short) direct from Paris. 
Murray has done and is still doing a deal of good. 
He has thrust out his arms in every direction 



EN ROUTE, 69 

over Smtzerland, and boldly grappled with every 
wrong. " Like an eagle in a dove-cote," he has 
" fluttered " every landlord in the country. The 
innkeepers, and all the tribe that prey upon tour- 
ists, know him and tremble. Long life to the ubi- 
quitous Murray ! Like the eye of the sentinel that 
day and night watched each motion of the unfor- 
tunate Lafayette at Olmutz, he fixes his unfailing 
glance upon everybody. Mine host dares not water 
his beer, or mitigate his wine, or even take in the 
linen before it is dry, for fear that some Englishman 
will come along at the very moment, and report him 
to the despotic censor who has taken it upon himself 
to look after the morals of the whole land. Murray 
is enjoying a hale old age, and the result of years 
of experience. He combines the wisdom of the 
philosopher with the genius of the poet ; the pro- 
found researches of the historian with the delicate 
taste of the connoisseur ; the practical appreciation 
of domestic comfort with a perception of the inner 
mysteries of Soyer and his cuisine. All this is con- 
densed into one moderate volume, and we can 
safely compare it, either to IJomer's " Iliad " in a 
nutshell, or to condensed soup for invalids, porta- 
ble, well-flavored, easy to digest, and which no 
wanderer should be without. 

There is said to be a skeleton in every one's 
closet, and so there is in Murray's. Some people 
are becoming tired of hearing him called the just, 
and are trying to ostracize him. There is now 



70 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

going on an irrepressible conflict between him and 
Baedeker, who has published an excellent series of 
guide-books for European ramblers. Baedeker is 
redder in the face than Murray, and his multifari- 
ous information is more condensed. The former is 
to the latter, what a lady-apple is to a pippin, or a 
king-bird to a crow, or a zouave to a battery of 
artillery, or the Miantonomoh to the Black Prince. 
Every now and then a copy peeps out, as if sur- 
reptitiously and shamefacedly, but each day B. 
becomes bolder and bolder, and makes greater and 
greater progress. Even Englishmen are beginning 
to patronize him, and altogether he threatens woe 
to his enemy in the future. He has for years been 
popular in his own country of Germany, and since 
English translations have appeared, his fame has 
gone on increasing with rapidity from season to 
season. Baedeker is an excellent pilot for those 
who make pedestrian excursions in Switzerland, 
and I have always found him trustworthy and judi- 
cious in the advice he gives. The Germans, for 
whom the book was first written, walk much more 
than other nations ; partly because they are nearer 
the Alps than others, partly because they are, in 
most cases, less able to bear the expenses of a jour- 
ney on wheels and on horseback. And they ben- 
efit by this in the end, for the only way to see 
Switzerland thoroughly and enjoy it without vexa- 
tious drawbacks, is to take to one's feet. I am 
surprised to notice how few i\.mericans volunteer 



EN ROUTE. 71 

to make a little exertion in this way, when there is 
so little to be lost and much to be gained. Some 
are too weak, or think themselves so ; some are too 
indolent ; some choose to sit in their hotel and smoke , 
others again prefer to swell round in their " store 
close," as at Saratoga or Newport. Of the hun- 
dreds and thousands of our countrymen who resort 
to this country professedly to enjoy the scenery, 
there are infinitely few who leave the travelled 
routes, or are willing to take any trouble to visit the 
Swiss in their more solitary valleys and behold them 
as they live. And yet the exhilaration and enjoy- 
ment of these long walks are indescribable. The 
freedom from anxiety ; the grandeur of the natural 
features around ; the delight of health and strength 
in mountain air ; the novelty of the situation, where 
one finds the deepest and most majestic solitude on 
the mountain slopes, broken only by the tinkle of 
the bells on the cattle and goats, or the melodious 
murmur of a hundred waterfalls ; all these lend a 
gratifying charm to every moment, and give a deep 
and pregnant meaning to one's daily life, that is 
but rarely felt in this hard and practical life of ours. 
This is truly a weary world, and men are likely 
to take very harsh and crabbed views of it, unless 
they oftener learn the great and impressive lessons 
that Nature gives. Did one desire no other benefit 
from a long walk in the secluded retreats of the 
Alps, he would at least be conscious of that eternal 
protest of Nature that the world was not made for 



72 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 



1 



use alone, but also for beauty. She tells us that 
truth everywhere — in the untold variety of her 
shapes, the endless play of her colors, and the inex- 
haustible richness of all the objects of the external 
world. We strive against each other for wealth, 
and not without reason, since it may mean culture, 
leisure, and enhanced opportunities of enjoying the 
glories of this fair earth ; but Nature is a thorough- 
going democrat, and gives the best of her opulence 
with both hands to all alike. The site of her in- 
finite and magical labors, her " luxuriant and waste 
fertility," matters not to her. She showers her be- 
neficent diversity on all her offspring ; and deep in 
Alpine valleys, or high on Alpine pastures, where 
no foot may penetrate, and no eye regard, except 
perchance those of the rude and uncultured herds- 
man, she is equally varied and impartial. The rich 
man can build a splendid residence, and cover his 
lofty ceilings with ft^escoes and gilding, while the 
poor man whitewashes his roof-tree, or sleeps under 
the plain thatch. But even the frescoes and the 
gilding weary at last, because they never change, 
while the Universal Mother builds above her chil- 
dren every night a bran-new alcove of light and 
glory, never like the skies of yesterday, — never 
seen exactly in the same way by any eyes before, — 
new^ for the laborer, new" for the herd-boy, new for 
" the wet sea-boy " keeping the morning or evening 
watch, new for every living creature ; sunrises of 
splendid invention, and sunsets of unparalleled pearl 



EN ROUTE. 73 

and turquoise and tender rose, fainting, fading, 
slowly dying o'er glittering peak and shining Alp, 
resplendent as the falling leaf, the glowing prism, 
or the radiant bubble fresh from its watery cradle ; 
all as if she would quietly persuade us that the 
world was not made merely to be born into, to eat 
and drink in, and then to die away from and have 
done with. 

In the matter of flowers alone, the valleys of the 
Alps would amply and superabundantly repay a visit 
from every sensitive and cultured taste. Here the 
lavish richness of Nature revels in a thousand images 
of glowing color, and we pass, with ever fresh de- 
light and wonder, from triumph to triumph of skill 
and comeliness. The rich green of tender herbage, 
glorious in itself, is made still more so by the myriad 
blossoms whose sufficient mission it is to be beauti- 
ful. A tournament of brightness like this is indeed an 
adornment worthy of its Maker. And it is always 
and everywhere thus. Nature cares not one jot if 
her jewels are squandered ; her will and way is to 
scatter them broadcast, so that none shall miss her 
bounty or her intent, unless they w^illfully throw 
away the proffered treasures, or have not the sense 
to notice and enjoy them. She pours them forth in 
sequestered vales, over rugged ruins of ancient pal- 
aces, deep in the heart of the ocean, and in the se- 
cluded thickets of lonely islands. Thus her ample 
ministrations were not wanting to Paul and Virginia 
in their sweet hermitage of love and piety ; and 



74 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

from the wealth she so copiously scattered, was 
added a farther charm to the depth of their affec- 
tion, and the graces of their pure and simple hfe. 
Thus even the dungeon of sad captivity was cheered 
by her ever-present and teeming bounty, and La 
povera Picciola, " the herb of grace," was sent on 
her beneficent mission to the victim of wrong. 
Lovely in death, the last breath of the floral mes- 
senger was fragrant with the sense of a duty well 
ftilfilled : dying, she bequeathed to the sensuahst 
and skeptic, liberty, learning, religion, a tliankful 
heart, and all that unalloyed happiness which flows 
from the love of our everlastino; Mother. 

If a hunter in chasing his quarry, breaks suddenly 
into a secluded nook of the Indian jungle, does 
he find anything neglected or stinted, because he is 
the first who ever came there and may be the last ? 
More likely he finds the place decked out, as though 
the mere chance of human eyes alighting upon it 
were reason enough to make it like a palace for 
kings and queens, with fretted panel-work of tropic 
foliage traced against the azure sky, and a carpet 
of curious arabesque in green grass and colors ; 
with the trees all about glorying in flowers yet un- 
named : wonderftil white - petaled blossoms, the 
sight of which might make point-lace mad, drooping 
over dark glossy leaves ; fragrances which were 
never yet stolen for the scent-bottles of fine ladies ; 
parasites clinging by bushels to the tree stems, in 
form like clusters of rose-red grapes burst open and 



EN ROUTE. 15 

displaying pearls for seeds. Why is all tliis ample 
provision, if it be not designed for our improvement, 
and to take its part in preparing us for another 
world, whose bright and undying perfections are 
but faintly shadowed forth, even by the most elabo- 
rate of Nature's efforts here ? Simple as are the 
floral decorations of Switzerland in the minds of 
many, it seems to me that they are one of Nature's 
chief lessons to teach us faith in pure beauty and a 
deep love of it, and a hope that we may one day 
attain to all the blessedness which it means. And 
yet this is but one of the teachings that she im- 
parts to the earnest thinker, who, walking amongst 
the hills, communes with God in sacred silence, and 
with earnest thankfulness receives the favors of 
the All-Giver. 

" Welcome, thou great Nature ; savage, but not 
false, not unkind, unmotherly ; speak thou to me, 
O Mother ! and sing my sick heart thy mystic, ever- 
lasting lullaby-song, and let all the rest be far ! " 



CHAPTER YII. 

GENTLE DULLNESS AT DINNER. 

During a short stay at Interlaken, having taken 
up Boswell's " Life of Johnson " for a moment's 
entertainment, I came across the following passage. 
It amused me extremely, — as in fact what part of 
that book does not every one find agreeable ? — and 
moreover, set me to thinking of some of my own 
experiences as a traveller on the same ground. I 
will give the text for the benefit of my readers, and 
then improve upon the same, endeavoring not to go 
beyond ninthly or tenthly, for " we trust we have 
a good conscience." Says Bozzy, " He — Johnson 
— laughed heartily Avhen I mentioned to him a say- 
ing of his concerning Mr. Thomas Sheridan, which 
Foote took a wicked pleasure to circulate. ' Why, 
sir. Sherry is dull, naturally dull ; but it must have 
taken him a great deal of pains to become what we 
now see him. Such an excess of stupidity, sir, is 
not in nature.' " My own observation teaches me 
that, though the remark of the Great Bear of the 
eighteenth century may have been true in his day, 
it can hardly be so considered at present. Carlyle 
remarks that " against stupidity the very gods fight 



GENTLE DULLNESS AT DINNER. 77 

to no purpose," and throughout his works one finds 
abundant evidence that the supply of that element 
in the human character has vastly increased among 
his countrymen of late years ; at least that is his 
idea, and if he is not entitled to be quoted as au- 
thority, it would be difficult to decide who is. There 
are certainly many people roaming over Europe 
now, whose mere word, or even appearance, would 
be taken on this subject, without the additional 
medium of an oath. Some days before 1 read the 
above extract, at the table d'hote of the hotel 
where I was stopping in Switzerland, the usual des- 
ultory conversation was going on with which the 
motley crew of all nations generally essay to fill up 
the intervals between the courses. A friend on my 
right remarked, in regard to the dessert, that the 
apples were not very good in Switzerland. To this 
another replied that the hotels gave us very little 
opportunity to pass judgment upon them. To which 
I added that if we had that opportunity it would 
probably be " The judgment of Solomon." It was 
not a very brilliant witticism and was offered from 
the purest motives ; merely to relieve the prevailing 
apathy, just as in bad weather they throw overboard 
a portion of the cargo to lighten the vessel. The 
hearers received it benignantly, not as a full fledged 
hon mot^ but a conceit that might at a future time 
be hatched into something, if it should return to 
the nest and remain a little longer. Therefore they 
awarded it a passing smile for the promise that 



78 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

it gave, and the chat turned to other subjects. 
On my left was seated a guest who, during the 
repast, had said never a word, and might well 
have served as a type of Coleridge's apple-dump- 
ling man. He wore a pair of green goggles, and 
thus far, had done nothing but investigate with their 
aid the contents of every dish that was offered him, 
as if it were an extremely rare and interesting nat- 
ural curiosity, whose merits could be appreciated 
only through two compound solar microscopes. 
A couple of minutes after the aforesaid fledgehng 
had shrunk back into its original abode, this individ- 
ual suddenly turned the full blaze of his gig-lamps 
upon me and solemnly said, " Sir, are you a hu- 
morist, will you allow me to ask ? " 

" Why, sir ? " was the reply. 

" I thought the remark you made just now about 
the apples might have been designed to give the 
impression that such was your temperament." 

" Oh, not in the least, sir. It was merely thrown 
off, on the spur of the moment, as a bit of facetious- 
ness to oil the social machinery." 

" But you avoid my question ; " with a slight 
thump of his knife on the table and another wave 
of the " sunny spots of greenery." " Did you, or 
did you not, sir, design to be humorous when you 
made the observation ? " 

" Well, I suppose I must confess the impeach- 
ment," said I ; " but I assure you it was done from 
the most innocent motives," I added, deprecatingly. 



GENTLE DULLNESS AT DINNER. 79 

" Perhaps you will be so kind as to explain it to 
me, then, for I failed to perceive the point of it. I 
dare say it is very good, and as I travel for my 
mental improvement, I do not like to miss any 
possibihty of acquiring anything valuable. I keep 
a little note-book in which " — 

" Certainly, sir, certainly ; anything in my power 
is at your service. You have heard of Solomon, I 
presume, — a great man in his day and very well 
known in Palestine at one time " — 

" But hold, sir, a moment ; is it necessary to go 
back as far as that for a proper understanding of 
your witticism ? " 

" Yes, sir, I think it is, — that is, thoroughly." 

" In that case, sir, why can't you defer the ex- 
planation till after dinner. The pudding is just 
coming, and I have n't my note-book in hand, and I 
don't wish, in my pursuit of knowledge, to willfully 
sacrifice the blessings of Providence." 

" Very well, sir, if you will come to my room 
afler this festive entertainment " — 

" Ha, ha, ha ! Ha, ha, ha ! ' Festive entertain- 
ment ! ' How extremely droll you are ! That wit- 
ticism I can appreciate." 

" But, sir, I did not intend to be witty in the 
least when I made use of those words. In truth, I 
did not design to employ them at all. They are an 
over-issue, and you ought not to take them up. I 
meant to have said social* meal ; indeed I did, sir," 
said I, earnestly, for I was in great fear that another 



80 CONTINENTAL SKLTCHES. 

long commentary might be tacked upon mj second 
unfortunate venture. 

" I dare say you thought so," said he, cunningly, 
and with a malicious twinkle on each side of his nose ; 
" but the fact is, you jokers fail to perceive whether 
you are facetious or not. It becomes a chronic com- 
plaint with you. You must let me have my laugh 
out," and then there was a display of ivory, a shim- 
mer of green goggles, and another " Ha, ha, ha ! " 

My acquaintance gradually subsided mto his usual 
dignified decorum, and after dinner was over, to my 
proposition tliat we should adjourn to my apartment, 
he majestically assented. I opened the door and 
stood at one side bowing, while the procession en- 
tered, — a biped, a pair of gaudy illuminators, and a 
strut. The display of politeness at the grand cli- 
max w^as most imposing, and the bow bestowed 
upon me recalled that of Doctor Johnson to the 
Archbishop of York, — " Such a studied elaboration 
of homage, such an extension of hmb, such a flexion 
of body, as have seldom or ever been equaled." 

" Will you take this seat, or that, su", during 
these proceedings ? " said I, reverentially. 

" I think I shall find this more suited to the pres- 
ent purpose," rephed he, picking out the only com- 
fortable arm-chah in the room and placing himself 
therein, with the unctuous complexion and teres 
atque rotundus expansion of one whom a hearty 
meal has just caused to blossom to his inmost petal. 
Evidently " that last piece of apple-pie " had done 



GENTLE DULLNESS AT DINNER. 81 

the business for liim. Taking an uneasy attitude, 
and drawing his note-book from the rather, restrict- 
ed quarters in his trousers' pocket, which his post- 
prandial condition rendered necessary, he heaved 
a somewhat elaborate sigh de profimdis, and said, 
" The arrangements are now complete and you may 
proceed, that is, if it be agreeable to yourself." At 
this juncture he made a second deep bow, so deep, 
in fact, that I feared it might produce apoplexy, 
especially as he had eaten copiously of mushrooms. 
I said, — 

" Really, sir, for so simple a civility such courtesy 
is hardly necessary," and then began, — 

" You will find the subject of my remarks in the 
First Book of Kings, third chapter, from the thir- 
teenth to the twenty-eighth verses inclusive : — 
' Then there came two women, that were harlots, 
unto the King, and stood before him.' " 

" I beg your pardon," said he of the goggles, 
when I had got thus far. " Will you kindly wait 
one moment, till I have sharpened my pencil ? I 
avail myself so frequently of the advantages it af- 
fords me in the pursuit of information that " — 

" Oh, don't mention it, for a moment," interrupted 
I, not knowing wdiither this Niagara of verbosity 
was tending. " Won't you take mine ? " 

" Thank you, sir," was the reply. "Is it possible 
that" — 

''Yes, yes, yes," said I ; " quite so, entirely so, 
every way." I was becoming a little nervous. 



82 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

"Everything is possible," added I, comprehen- 
sively, and then, without further parley, I struck 
into the second verse. I had read about half-way 
through the account which I had selected as the 
basis of my explanation, when I heard a tap. It 
was onty the pencil of my visitor that had rolled 
on to the floor. As he made no motion to pick it 
up, I looked at him. Behind the green glasses was 
only vacancy ; the eyes before which they were an- 
chored were closed ; and the head, so ardent in pur- 
suit of learning, was no longer under the control of 
its proprietor. It was moving to and fro, with a gut- 
tural accompaniment, as if he dreamt that he was a 
Mandarin of the gold button, and had accepted a 
situation that required all his energies as sign — 
indicator, he would call it — for a tea-shop, and 
had begun already to speak the Chinese language. 
The goggles at first looked heavy, then shady, then 
helpless, and finally came to the floor with a crash. 
Sitting bolt upright, in a peremptory way, with the 
back of his head against the top of the chair, as if 
about to be garroted, he said w^ith a vacant air, — 

" Did you speak, sir ? " 

" Yes, sir, seven verses," said I. 

" Really, sir, I think I must have lost part of 
them. I was led, when you commenced, to think of 
the Queen of Sheba, Lord Brougham, Jeremiah, 
and — don't you observe that the atmosphere has 
a very soporific tendency this afternoon?" said he 
with a profuse yawn, followed by several offspring 
that greatly resembled their parent. 



GENTLE DULLNESS AT DINNER. 83 

" I generally take a siesta at tliis hour, and the 
interpretation which you have so kindly given has 
prepared me to enjoy it with the pure sleep of in- 
fancy. I know all about it now" — here another 
yawn — " Jeremiah, and Solomon, and Queen 
Victoria. Oh dear ! oh dear ! I really believe you 
must excuse me. I have had such a delightful vis- 
itation." 

Here he stooped with an air of compression, very 
much as a full cask of wine might be supposed to 
do, if it were conscious of being rather tightly 
hooped ; and after several clutches, holding mean- 
while to the arm-chair, picked up his scientific aids 
from the floor, and slowly bowed himself out. I 
heard him for a few moments pacing heavily along 
the hall with the ponderous tread of " the Marble 
Statue," and gradually disappear " like thunder 
heard remote." So ended my last attempt to ex- 
plain an innocent joke. In future I shall hmit 
myself to the strictest veracity, " as some fair fe- 
male, unadorned and plain," when in the presence 
of such sedate and pertinacious seekers for naked 
truth, and frown down any attempt at facetiousness 
on the part of other thoughtless ones who attempt to 
practice their drolleries, as did Cardinal Wolsey, " in 
the presence." Pope said, " Gentle dullness ever 
loves a joke ; " but it is only such venerable Joe 
Millers as have become moss-grown with antiquity, 
and are admired by a certain class for the same 
reason that Dr. Johnson said some old and rare 



84 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

books were valuable, " because tliey are worthless." 
Nowadays the stereotyped laughter mvariably ac- 
companies them on the part of serious people, in 
the same manner that a metallic appendage is often 
attached to the extremity of a worn-out and odious 
cur. 

Hood said, in his genial and befitting way, — 

" I do enjoy this bounteous, beauteous earth, 

And dote upon a jest 

Within the limits of becoming mirth ; " 

and I must say I fully agree with this cordial, 
cheei-ful philosophy, in which there is poetry and 
truth, as well as humanity. It offers a most re- 
freshing contrast to the chilling sobriety of those 
torpid wights who neither joke themselves, nor ever 
see the point of a witticism in others. In it lie 
many of the springs of content and pleasure, as well 
as health. It broadens our love, lightens our cares, 
enlarges the sympathies which are due from us all 
to our fellow-men, enables us to tide over the con- 
cealed rocks and quicksands of the future, and upon 
a stony past often sheds a glow that hides tlie ac- 
cumulated sorrows of years. Long life, then, to 
the genial philanthropist who pours his quickening 
humor into the thin and watery veins of our practi- 
cal life, and scatters around the stony ways of this 
briery working-day world the inspiring sunshine of 
his fancy. 

This was the temperament of Sydney Smith, 
whose wit was but the sprightly and innocent flash- 



GENTLE DULLNESS AT DINNER. 85 

ing of a mirthfulness that always, even in its most 
quiet moments, irradiated those around him. Ever 
pleasing, and ignoring all care, thoughtful of others, 
and using his humor, like a broad shield, to spread 
over those nearest and dearest to him, and avert 
the thousand ills and vexations to which they were 
exposed, he needed but little to make the rays flash 
from it into sudden and irrepressible brilliancy. 
Thus the bright and appreciative intellect of this 
laughing philosopher made him not only " a fellow 
of infinite jest," and a Yorick of unlimited pleasant- 
ry, but strong in the cordial warmth of his wit, and 
it also enabled him to snap his fingers at each and 
every distracting trouble, as one who cared not for 
their rude assaults ; and he is but one bright exem- 
plar of many that might be enumerated, to whom 
Heaven has vouchsafed this precious boon of a 
cheerful spirit, and who, clothing themselves there- 
with as with a garment, have diffused a healing 
virtue among; their race. 

But to return to the subject with which I began. 
I know not precisely if it be the fate of travellers, 
more than others, to meet with this mental ob- 
tuseness, which no amount of experience can 
sharpen into clearness of perception, but I certainly 
have encountered a deal thereof. Some years ago, 
I was remarking to a gentleman, that it was very 
odd that no person could remember to say to him- 
self, as soon as he was awake in the morning, any 
words which he had resolved to utter on retirinof 



86 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

the previous evening, such as, " There, I have just 
awoke," or anything of that kind. To this the 
party rephed that he had noticed a similar fact in 
his own experience, that on going to bed he never 
could recollect to say to himself, " There, I 'm 
asleep," at the instant he had passed completely 
under the influence of slumber, nor had he ever 
met with any who could. And he held to this 
opinion with great seriousness, and the air of one 
who had discerned a new and important truth in the 
history of the human mind. Many years ago I 
was driving with an acquaintance in a country town. 
Our horse, whose locomotive faculties had never 
been well developed, was now a chronic old sinner 
long past repentance. He was a big, gaunt beast, 
and reminded me of the quadruped that Mr. Win- 
kle undertook to ride to Dingley Dell. Our pace 
must have suggested to all spectators that we had 
originally formed part of a funeral train, but had 
been left behind from inability to keep up with the 
rest. Unfortunately, the misery of my situation 
was intensified by the fact, that there was a strong 
resemblance between my companion and this ani- 
mal. If I struck the latter with the whip on his 
flank, he did not notice the blow, till the sensation 
had had time to travel along his spine to his head, 
or his hoofs, or wherever else his sensorium was 
located. When this was reached, he would give a 
sudden and dislocating jerk, which put those in the 
vehicle entirely out of tune, unless they made the 



GENTLE DULLNESS AT DINNER. 87 

right calculations and prepared for it. My compan- 
ion was similarly constituted, and if I tried to say 
anything smart, the shot never took effect, until 
some little space had been allowed for it to insinu- 
ate itself into his pia mater. Then he would burst 
into a laugh, like the philosopher who jumped out 
of his turbid bath into the open sunshine crying 
" Eureka." We were talking of a torch-light pro- 
cession that had very nearly come to grief in the 
vicinity not many weeks before, while crossing the 
ice to a neighboring town. I unfortunately said, I 
presumed they had orders " to fall in before they 
started," and emphasized the remark by a smart cut 
with the whip on the horse's back. ^' There was 
silence deep as death for a time," but in about sixty 
seconds came an unforeseen explosion. The two 
sensations reached my friend's caput and that of 
the horse at the same instant, and he exclaimed, 
" You meant a pun, did n't you? " at the very mo- 
ment that the brute became conscious of the tire in 
his rear. The former expanded his mouth, just as 
the latter bolted forward ; in the concision, the shd- 
ing seat was upset and we both turned a somerset 
into the back of the carriage. We were ingeni- 
ously linked together for a short space, but eventu- 
ally recovered our centre of gravity. My compan- 
ion had been favored with a smart blow on the 
weakest part of his system — "the peccant part," 
as Dr. Johnson once termed it — from the pommel 
of a saddle that we had behind us, but otherwise 
we were uninjured. 



88 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

We joked no more that day. As for myself, I 
had good reason to dread the consequences of an- 
other sally, and was sobered both by my escape 
from bodily harm and the thought of the near ap- 
proach to a violation of the Third Commandment of 
which I had been guilty when " entangled in no 
faint embrace " in the bottom of our ambulance. As 

for Mr. , he became distrait ; and between the 

punch the inside of his head had received from me, 
and that bestowed on the outside by the saddle, had 
enough to occupy his attention till our return home. 
He then passed into a state of great hilarity, hav- 
ing apparently unraveled the witticism entirely to 
his satisfaction. Being asked by some one what 
amused him, he explained it all by saying that I 
remarked '' that I supposed the procession, when it 
started, had orders to fall through^ And there he 
stuck hard and fast, and there he w^ill ever stick. 

" Sedtt ceternumque sedebit infelix Tlieseus.'^ 

And yet, notwithstanding the various absurdities 
one encounters, I would not have my readers be- 
lieve that nothing else Is to be met with at the 
European tables d'hote. On the contrary, they are 
often the source of great entertainment and profit, 
and I am of opinion that of all travellers the least 
wise are those who dwell apart and move in strict 
seclusion in the narrow and ever dwindling atmos- 
phere of their own thoughts and influences. Until 
within a few years this has invariably been the habit 



GENTLE DULLNESS AT DINNER. 89 

of English tourists, and it is only lately that they 
have yielded to the general custom which brings all 
together round a common table at the close of the 
day. Their good sense has gradually led them to 
overcome this aversion to publicity, for so they 
regard it ; and they are now willing to acknowledge 
that there are many and great benefits arising from 
the continental system. It is a custom to which 
they are entirely unused, for it seldom exists in their 
own country, and it is therefore the more natural 
that it should be distasteful to them in Switzerland, 
yet it is now almost universally practiced. The 
interchange of thought ; the friction of mutual 
intercourse, which rubs down many a sharp and 
salient angle ; the siglit of novel and peculiar man- 
ners and customs, have all had an excellent effect. 
Their minds have been liberalized, old prejudices 
removed, and the rough and rusty ways of stale 
conservatism smoothed and brightened. I have en- 
countered many examples of this in the course of 
years, and some of my most agreeable recollections 
date from the entertain in o; conversation of refined 
and intelligent people at the public dinner-tables. 
Much of this related to the travellino- adventures of 
the parties, as was natural for those in their position, 
but often general subjects were discussed in a way 
that was both beneficial and amusino;. Not un- 
frequently the lives and acts of great men were 
brought up, and every one had his own piquant and 
pleasant stories to relate. Sometimes these were 



90 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

the results of their own experience, and often had 
the merit of being fresh and thoroughly character- 
istic. Among the English, I have heard the name 
of Lord Brougham mentioned as often as that of any 
one, and was always interested to notice how com- 
pletely his vigorous and knotty intellect had im- 
pressed itself on his countrymen. His powers are 
failing now, and yet, though he has just completed 
his eighty-ninth year, he dies hard. The ruling 
energy and untiring industry that have driven him 
through life, still urge him to wrestle with the angel 
of death, and he would drop dead in the harness, hke 
Lord Palmerston, if the people would let him. He 
lately resigned his office of President of the Social 
Science Congress, but it was a constrained abdica- 
tion, and he would have been glad to retain his 
place. It exposed him to many annoyances, never- 
theless, and the numerous impositions of unprofit- 
able people were extremely vexatious to a man of 
his practical mind. At one of the meetings where 
a woman of years and grim aspect — one of those 
spectacled Medusas, I fancy, of whom we see so 
many at religious anniversaries — persisted in ques- 
tioning him on a variety of frivolous matters, and 
finally approached the platform where he stood, in 
order to "fix him with her glittering eye," he 
turned sharply upon lier and annihilated her with 
"Woman, begone!" He then calmly proceeded 
with the business in hand. 

Lord Brougham had on one ^occasion the fortune 



GENTLE DULLNESS AT DINNER. 91 

to read bis own decease and his life also in the same 
paper, — an incident which happens to few men. 
His demise was reported in the " London Times " 
as the result of a railroad accident, and his obituary 
was forthwith taken from tlie colmnharium of biog- 
raphies which " the thunderer " always keeps on 
hand ready for any such emergency, and printed. 
At tlie table dliote where this conversation took 
place, were several leading barristers and the ex- 
chancellor was w^ell known to most of them. A 
neat little story was told of his canvass of a district 
in Yorkshire for Parliament. It was one of the larg- 
est boroughs both in size and population, and as the 
candidate, then in his palmiest days, had but little 
time to spare, he made appointments to meet his 
constituents from place to place, without regard to 
the hour of day or night. At one town he would ad- 
dress them at six in the morning ; another, at twelve 
at night, and still another, perhaps, at midday. He 
kept this up for several days, with but little rest, 
and only now and then snatching a brief repose. 
During this period, his toilet duties were some- 
what neglected, and he was finally reminded of the 
fact in an odd way. He was in vigorous terms 
denying a charge of bribery, and at length em- 
phatically spread out his hands with the exclama- 
tion, '' These hands are clean ! " A loud laugh from 
his hearers led him to look at them, and they were 
very nearly a chimney-sweep's for blackness. He 
won his election, nevertheless, after a contest of un- 
rivaled severitv. 



92 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

'' Do you recollect Baron Alderson, and the neat 

way in which he Avas gored by Sergeant S ? " 

said Mr. A . " Your story about Lord Broug- 
ham brings it to mind, as I was in court at the time 
and remember what a sensation it made. It was 
thought quite a smart thing then." 

" No, I don't remember it ; do let us have it." 

" S. was making the closing argument in the case 
of — of — well, I forget the name, but it related to 
a collision between an omnibus and a brougham. 
The proprietor of the latter had brought an action 
against the owner of the former. S., in speak- 
ing of the latter, called it a broog-ham, very much 
to the disgust of the Judge. At length his lordship 
could endure it no longer, and somewhat petulantlj^ 
asked, ' Brotlier S., why don't you say brougham 
(broom), and you '11 save a syllable each time ? ' S. 
went on without reply, and soon finished his argu- 
ment. Baron Alderson proceeded to address the 
jury, and in tlie course of his charge often used the 
word omnibus. At leno-th Serjeant S. rose and 
said, ' I beg your lordship's pardon, but if your 
lordship would only say 'bus, instead of omnibus, it 
would be a great gain, for your lordship would 
save two syllables each time.' Having made this 
point lie sat down." 

" You knew Lord Campbell, did you not?" said 
some one. " I believe he was now and then quite 
as sarcastic as Lord Ellenborough." 

Yes, he was. I once heard him say a pretty 



(( 



GENTLE DULLNESS AT DINNER. 93 

good tiling, and, in my opinion, quite proper. A 
member of the bar who was not veiy well up in 
his Latin, rose, as he remarked, for the purpose of 
moving that a 7ioUe prosequi — accenting the second 
syllable — be entered in a certain case. ' As you 
please,' said his lordship, very quietly. ' Only re- 
member that it is near the close of the term, and 
don't let us have anything unnecessarily long.' " 

" We lawyers used to enjoy Sydney Smith's 
company very much," said Mr. D. " Though he 
was not one of us, all his tastes and acquirements 
fitted him for the bar, and I believe he was orio-i- 
nally designed for that, as Henry VIII. was for the 
Church, though, jovial as he w^as, he made a better 
churchman than that monarch. If ever there was 
a droll wag, he was one. The last time I met him 
he told me of an Irish gentleman — and I dare say 
he made up the story — whom he had invited to 
breakfast a few days before. Half an hour having 
passed without the arrival of the expected guest, the 
host at length looked out and saw him, apparently in 
a state of great mystification, on the other side of the 
street. Finally, as if unable to solve his bewilder- 
ment, he started to go away, when Mr. Smith ran 
over and seized him. It then appeared that the 
invitee had sought for the number, 77, at the wrong 
spot. Not being familiar with the custom of placing 
all the odd fiojures on one hand and the even on the 
other, he had reached 76 in safety, but only to find 
himself suddenly switched off. The more he re- 



94 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

fleeted, the more confused lie became, and lie was 
about to sacrifice the expected breakfast and retire, 
when fortunately rescued. " Once seated at the 
table," said Mr. Smith, " I tried to explain the 
matter in as clear language as I could command, 
but without much success ; for his only reply was 
that he did n't like that style of thing at all, and he 
could n't understand it ; for when a man wanted to 
call on his next-door neighbor, he had to cross to 
the opposite house." 

" When you were speaking of Campbell and his 
sarcasm," continued Mr. D., " I thought of a re- 
mark I once heard Baron Maule make. It was at 
a dinner party, where a young man near him was 
making himself generally disagreeable by his offi- 
cious observations and flippancy. He said to the 
Judge, at length, that really the only things he 
cared for were horses and women. " Young man," 
replied he, " I advise you to go home and make 
your will ; bequeath your skin to be made into a 
side-saddle, and in that way you can both make 
yourself useful and gratify the only tastes you 
iiave." 

" Sydney Smith and Douglass Jerrold used to 
say terribly severe things at times. They were 
often perfectly crushing," said Mr. A. " Many of 
them, however, have been made public in one way 
or another and are well known. The latter was 
especially apt and quick-witted, and invariably equal 
to any call that was made upon him. One evening, 



GENTLE DULLNESS AT DINNER. 95 

in a mixed company, we were playing a game to 
test our knowledge of Shakespeare. Each person 
was to name some object, it mattered not what, to 
the guest next to him, and the latter, under pain of 
a forfeit, was to give some quotation from the poet 
to illustrate it. To Jerrold was alloted the word 
tread-mill, and he hardly hesitated a moment be- 
fore replying, in the well-known language of Lear, 
' Down, thou climbing sorrow ! ' " 

" Talfourd, I believe, in his day, served as a 
connecting link between the literary men and the 
lawyers, and performed the part well, too, did he 
not?" 

" Yes, I knew him quite intimately and used 
frequently to be at the great parties at his house in 
Russell Square. They were altogether unique, and 
it was very entertaining to hear the strange medley 
of names that were called out as the guests entered. 
I have seen there on the same evenino; the Lord 
Chancellor, several of the judges, a number of peers 
of the realm, prominent statesmen, Thackeray, 
Dickens, the Keans, Faraday, Landseer, and a hun- 
dred other notabilities, and among them men who 
had been obliged to hire or borrow the coats they 
came in. Talfourd never forgot those with whom 
he had been connected when he was poor and 
unknown, and this was one thing that made him so 
popular and so universally lamented at his death. 
The entertainment on these occasions was always 
profuse, and it quite fi'equently happened that 



96 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

some of those present, not being used to such 
luxury, altogether forgot themselves. I have seen 
one of our ablest modern writers quite as badly off 
as any one, and his style of life at these London 
parties probably hastened his decease. Very few 
have the strength of constitution to endure it for 
any length of time. Talfourd himself used to 
drink a great deal of port, and finally died of apo- 
plexy. He needed a perpetual stimulus of that 
kind, in consequence of the demand upon both 
mind and body which his professional and other 
labors were constantly making. I have known him, 
in the prime of his career at the bar, to make an 
argument of perhaps three hours in an important 
case, another of an hour and a half, and still 
another somewhat longer on the same day. Be- 
tween each two, he changed his linen, drank a bot- 
tle of port, and ate a hearty luncheon. He was so 
much fatigued with his exertions, that he really 
needed powerful stimulants to keep up his strength, 
and yet no man could go through what he did with- 
out breaking down eventually. He was very elo- 
quent, and could carry a jury with him to almost 
any point he chose. I heard him on one occasion 
make a superb argument in a case where his client 
was suing a man who had injured his horse by 
hard driving and cruel treatment. He obtained 
ample damages, but I don't think he spoke ten 
minutes about the horse. By some strange devia- 
tion he soon wandered from the subject, and, for 



GENTLE DULLNESS AT DINNER. 97 

over an hour, devoted himself to the horrors of 
African slavery. It was the most stirring, ener- 
getic, and masterly speech on that matter which I 
ever heard. 

" His income as a lawyer was enormous, and 
when he was removed to the bench it was X5000 : 
so that he was able to extend to all his friends the 
magnificent hospitality which was so much to his 
taste. His position was a splendid one, and he was 
a sort of Maecenas to both literary men and law- 
yers. He was successful in each of those careers 
liimself, and had not been obliged to bid farewell 
to his muse, like his great predecessor, Blackstone. 
In his early struggles, when his father's ruin had 
blighted his prospects, he had to rely upon his 
pen for support, and his literary reputation had 
kept pace with his legal advancement. Any writer 
might be proud of his works. He was one of the 
very few men in modern times who were thor- 
oughly imbued with the spirit of ancient Greek 
poetry. He had a wonderfully delicate perception 
of its beauties, and in this respect his mind was 
touched to the finest issues. His tragedy of ' Ion ' 
might almost have come from the hand of Euripides 
himself. Its author was perfectly infatuated with 
it, and used to attend whenever it was performed, 
though miles from London, if he could possibly 
find the time and means to reach the place. He 
would sometimes even take the express train to 
Liverpool, when ' Ion ' was on the boards, and 
7 



98 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

return the same niglit, after the performance. He 
would invariably applaud profusely, even when the 
acting was bad, and never failed to show a demon- 
strative approval of every one of its noble senti- 
ments. He deeply sympathized with the hardships 
of those less fortunate than he had been, and was 
always ready to tender both purse and brain for 
their benefit. Haydon, the painter, once applied to 
him to relieve his impecuniosity with the loan of 
twenty pounds This was in Talfourd's early days, 
when he had only toiled up the first few steps of 
professional success. He himself needed the money 
for hard-earned and well-deserved recreation, and 
had just laid aside that amount, in order to take a 
pleasant trip with some friends to Margate. How- 
ever, his charitable heart could not withstand Hay- 
don's appeal, and he gave up his proposed excursion 
and loaned him the sum he asked. The next day he 
went to the steamboat on which he was to have 
abandoned for the moment his arduous labors, in 
order to take leave of his friends, when he was sur- 
prised to find there Haydon and his family, who 
were mym^ on the same excursion he had relin- 
quished, and probably with the aid of the very money 
he had sacrificed to aid what the painter fancifully 
styled his pressing necessities. Many men would 
have experienced a feeling of disgust to see the per- 
tinacious advocate of ' high art ' stoop so low ; but 
Talfourd's was a noble nature, and he was perfectly 
willing to regard it as merely an idiosyncrasy of 
genius." 



GENTLE DULLNESS AT DINNER. 99 

These few pages may serve as an example of the 
chatty and agreeable form in which the conversa- 
tion at the hotel tables sometimes appears. Of 
course it is generally very different from this, but it 
seldom is so tame as to be utterly uninteresting and 
profitless. I can conscientiously add that I never 
was present when at least some Httle improvement 
mio;ht not be derived from it. 



CHAPTER Vin. 



ZERMATT. 



Everybody of late, who has travelled in Switzer- 
land, has at least heard of Zermatt. Hundreds of 
our countrymen have been there, and those who 
have not will never cease to regret it. It is only 
within fifteen years that it has become known, and 
this is chiefly owing to the efforts of Professor Forbes, 
whose enthusiastic love of natural scenery and sci- 
ence led him to bring its claims before the world. 
The discovery somewhat resembled that of Pompeii, 
for its inhabitants were nearly as much lost to the 
world as those of that city of the dead. Deep in 
the heart of a secluded valley thirty miles long and 
six thousand feet above the level of the sea, they 
were nearly as barbarous as the ancient Khaeti. 
Then* village was merely a collection of squalid 
huts, blackened by age and smoke, and without 
chimneys or windows. They ate black bread, and 
cheese of an odor by no means fragrant ; hunted the 
chamois occasionally, went to church with great 
regularity, and once a year in a body made a pil- 
grimage to '' Our Lady of the Snow," whose chapel 
is perched high on a cliff above her Avorshippers. 



ZERMATT. 101 

All this they may have done, for aught any one 
knows, since the days of the Roman Empire. 
They do it now, in fact, but are beginning to be 
tinctured with civihzation. Their bread is a Kttle 
whiter, their cheese a shade less demonstrative ; 
they hunt the chamois a great deal more than they 
used to ; they stay away from church once in a 
while, and the eagle eye of " Our Lady of the 
Snow " now and then misses a pilgrim who ought 
to be in his place, but is kept at home, perchance 
by neuralgia, or some other complaint disastrous to 
Peter and Paul. The villagers are no longer fright- 
ened at the sight of a modern bonnet or a silk um- 
brella. Handkerchiefs and wash-basins are making 
their appearance here and there, and altogether one 
can distinguish considerable progress in the right 
direction. 

This is as it should be. It is the direct result of 
modern travel, and those tourists who take trouble 
to reflect upon it, are quite convinced that they are 
missionaries, only slightly disguised, and spend a 
large part of their time going about doing good. 
Their head-quarters are two gigantic hotels, which 
tower like great factories — of philanthropy — above 
the huts around them, and a third on the Riffelberg, 
several thousand feet higher. These are well sup- 
ported, and since Zermatt has become the rival of 
Chamonix, there is no lack of strangers from all 
quarters of the earth to fill them. As a central 
point, from which to make excursions, Zermatt is 



102 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

unsurpassed. In its vicinity are many of the most 
glorious mountain summits, the most lofty and diffi- 
cult passes, and the grandest glaciers. The subUm- 
ity of its scenery no pen can describe, and it seems 
like a great temple where all nations and all sects 
can come and worship with unanimity. Few can 
resist the temptation to climb at least one of these 
almost inaccessible heights, where the reward is so 
great, even for the most arduous exertions ; and men 
and women, who call themselves invalids at home, 
here are surprised to find themselves capable of feats 
of darino; that their wildest ideas never before con- 
ceived. Most of these are done by English and 
Americans. They flock here in multitudes, and 
give a tone to everything that is done. At evening 
they crowd the table (TMte^ and at the same time 
discuss their dinner and the events of the day. 
Conversation flows full and free, the last great as- 
cent is talked over, preparations are made for the 
next day's work, and every one contributes his 
share to that which is of interest to all. Good 
breeding almost invariably prevails, and it is pleas- 
ing to notice how the quiet refinement of Paris, 
or London, has been transported to even this 
remote locality. In truth, but for the surround- 
ings, one might well believe himself at a reunion 
of polite and cultivated people in his own land. 
Much good results from these cheerful meetings ; 
and this displays itself in the interchange of many 
courtesies, and the tender of information which is 



ZERMATT. 103 

often of great value, especially to the inexperienced. 
This is by no means one of the slightest benefits of 
travel, which, in our day, has so vastly increased 
with the progress of mental culture and improve- 
ment. 

The Church of England, which always provides 
well for the spiritual interests of its more prominent 
and respectable members, by no means neglects 
those who travel on the continent. At Interlaken, 
Lucerne, and many other places in Switzerland, 
handsome chapels have been provided, where they 
can, on Sunday, hear their own service in their own 
tongue. Resident ministers are stationed at all these 
villages, and even in such remote localities as Ra- 
gatz and Zermatt. Heretofore there has been no 
chapel at the latter place, and the weekly worship 
has been performed in a room of one of the ho- 
tels. It is now proposed to build an elegant edifice 
for this object. The site has already been chosen, 
and those of my readers who have been there will 
perhaps call it to mind. It is a little elevation op- 
posite to, and some little distance from, the door of 
the Hotel Mont Cervin. It overlooks the valley, and 
from its entrance can be seen the lofty and magnif- 
icent form of the Matterhorn, which is the great 
feature of the scenery in this part of Switzerland. 
Since the sad accident of two years ago, in which 
four persons lost their lives, it has a terrible signifi- 
cance to every one who looks upon it, and to Eng- 
lishmen more than any others. For this reason it 



104 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

is designed to make the new building a memorial 
church, and consecrate it to the memory of the un- 
fortunate sufferers who died within sight of its walls. 
A monumental tablet will bear their names, and re- 
call to every one that reads them the fearful lesson 
which their fate conveys. 

It is impossible to think of the hard lot of the 
youngest of these men without feelings of the deep- 
est compassion. Though only eighteen years of age, 
Lord Francis Douglas was one of the most promis- 
ing among the rising nobility of England. Athletic 
and vigorous in body, his mental acquirements were 
b}^ no means small, and he had just passed the best 
examination out of a large number of candidates for 
military promotion in the British army. He had 
already distinguished himself among Alpine climb- 
ers by many exploits, requiring great strength, judg- 
ment, and endurance. A few days before his death, 
he had mounted to the top of one of the most pre- 
cipitous and lonely mountains in this vicinity, and 
come down in safety. Almost the last words he 
wrote were the follow^ing, just before lea\dng on his 
trip to the Matterhorn. I copied them from the 
stranger's book of the hotel where he stopped, in 
which it is the custom of those who have done any- 
thing unusual in mountain ascents to record a short 
memorandum thereof : — 

" 1865, July 10. Lord F. Douglas, England. 
Ascended the Gabelhorn from Zinal, and descended 
to Zermatt. Time 18J. I believe this to be the 



ZERMATT. 105 

first or second ascent. This makes a truly mag- 
nificent pass, and the highest anywhere about here. 
Guides, Peter Taugwald, Joseph Viennin, of 
Zinal." 

This is certainly a modest account of an expedi- 
tion whose dangers none can appreciate but those 
who have been through them. Of the four who 
died on the Matterhorn, his body alone has never 
been found. The sleeve of a coat and a single 
boot, were shown me as the sole relics of one who 
had been thus hurled from the warmth of ruddy 
youth to the cold obstruction of an icy grave. 
The former was mangled and gashed, while from 
the latter had been hewn a shapeless fragment on 
either side of the heel. It was otherwise uninjured 
by the fall, and its appearance indicated that, catch- 
ing in a cleft of rock, the foot had been violently 
wrenched from it. Of the others, the disjointed 
members, or a portion thereof, were collected here 
and there at the base of the precipice. They bore 
no mark of their once comely humanity ; and the 
swift descent of four thousand feet, had not only 
divorced them from life, but effaced nearly every 
sign of recognition. Brought together with diffi- 
culty, they received an honored burial. Why no 
remains of Lord Francis Douglas were ever de- 
tected will probably be unknown, till the day when 
nothing shall be concealed. A hundred rumo ^ 
were started ; a Imndred theories intimated. ^ .ey 
were all unsupported by facts, and are too ainfril 



106 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

for repetition. It is only known that his body mys- 
teriously vanished, though there seems to be no 
reason why it should not have been found with 
those of his companions. It is, perchance, as well 
so. Dismembered like theirs, its discovery could 
have given but little gratification, and it is better 
that it should thus partake of the covenant of the 
grave in its own solitary integrity. If, as is proba- 
ble, it be interred deep in the eternal snows of the 
Matterhorn, none will deny that the place of sepul- 
ture is peculiarly fitting. His funeral pile is glorious 
beyond that of the most exalted of his species. The 
stupendous obelisk upon whose virgin and glittering 
summit he stood, casts its protecting shadow over his 
repose, and will long testify of his courage, his manly 
vigor, and the pluck that was daunted by no opposi- 
tion. It was his own chivalrous kindness that insured 
his death ; for had he not interceded in behalf of him 
whose inexperience was the cause of their destruc- 
tion, his mortal ruin would have been avoided. 
Even in that last crushing moment, unappalled, he 
struggled manfully for life, and with almost superhu- 
man coolness, strove to stay the swift approach of 
doom. The Bayard of the Matterhorn, the Maxi- 
milian of its forlorn hope, he wrested victory from 
disaster, and his name has become a symbol in the 
mouths of men. Nowhere better can he sleep than 
on the field of battle. Upon his bones " the dust 
of old oblivion " shall not lie. 

The Alps are giant tombs, and many a snow- 



ZERMATT. 107 

covered mausoleum has been sanctified by the con- 
secration of death. But in all the sad suggestions 
of this mighty necropolis, we meet with none that 
appeals more strongly to our sympathy, than the 
fate of him who perished so worthily in the bloom 
of an early manhood. For many an age will the 
Alpine wanderer recall his memory. 

" Each lonely place shall him restore, 
For him the tear be duly shed; 
Beloved, till life can charm no more; 
And mourned till Pity's self be dead." 

In the church-yard at Zermatt were laid the re- 
mains of those who perished with Lord Francis 
Douglas. Near them are the bodies of two other 
travellers who have, within a few years, lost their 
lives in this neighborhood. Nothing marks the 
site, as yet, but a plain black cross, on which all 
their names are inscribed. Their dust is not 
mingled with that of the villagers who have died 
heretofore, but reposes apart and close under the 
walls of the church. At the foot of the sacred 
emblem, some kind hand has planted a rose-bush 
and a few simple flowers. Requiescant in pace, 

" It is of little profit for the most part to moralize, 
but standing over the graves of men, so manly, so 
intelligent, so able as these, one can hardly help 
asking: himself what was the real attraction that led 
them to their death ? What has man to do upon 
these lofty summits ? Is there not some mysteri- 
ous, inexplicable charm that allures him to tempt 



108 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

the mortal dangers which lurk on all sides, to trans- 
port his warm frail being over miles of glacier 
deserts ; often to shelter himself with difficulty 
against raging storms and deadly frosts, in miser- 
able huts raised by himself; lianging between life 
and death, for the sake of gaining with short breath 
and shivering hmbs the narrow footing of some ma- 
jestic pinnacle of snow ? Is it merely the glory of 
having ascended so high that tempts him ? Is this 
tlie pitiful reward for which he looks? We can 
hardly believe it. Surely it is the consciousness 
of intellectual power which burns within him, and 
impels him to overcome the dead terrors of material 
Nature ; it is the fascination of measuring man's 
intelho-ent will ao;ainst the dull resistance of mere 
dust ; the desire of exploring in the holy cause of 
science the nature and structure of the earth, and 
the mysterious inter - connection of all created 
things ; more than this, it is often perhaps a vague 
longing to realize on earth's remotest heights man's 
own profound relation with the infinite Creator." 

It has been the lot of but few to realize this 
mental grandeur, and in fact, there are not many 
whose bodily endurance would be equal to the test. 
Only those who have tried it can appreciate the 
muscular tenacity and pluck needed to scale a 
height of 15,000 feet. The strain upon all the 
faculties continues for hours without intermission, 
and the exhaustion is such -as few can bear. In 
these long and fearful expeditions through wilder- 



ZERMATT. 109 

nesscs of ice and rocks, chasms and precipices, one 
must have the eye of the eagle, the foot of the 
chamois, and the nervous gripe of the sailor when 
aloft in the frozen rigging. 

To most people, this labor and exposure appear 
both profitless and unnecessary. My own expe- 
rience, however, teaches me a far different result. 
There are some, like Professor Tyndall, who resort 
to the loftiest peaks in pursuit of then- scientific 
researches, and these are worthy of all praise. 
They deservedly receive from the world the well- 
earned fame that follows from unsparing risks and 
sacrifices in a noble cause, the advancement of the 
real interests of mankind. Others mount from a 
longing, and certainly it seems to many cultivated 
minds a pardonable one, to indulge their gratifi- 
cation at the sight of a glorious prospect. In our 
age, this passion has been developed to a degree 
that has never before been seen. Unknown in 
ancient times, it is the natural result of the mental 
improvement of our race. To many of the most 
cultivated intellects of this generation the love of 
Nature has proved, no less than fame, — 

" The spur that the clear spirit doth raise 
To scorn delights and live laborious days." 

Their sympathy with her passions and her change- 
ful moods, her peaceful and varied beauty, and the 
majesty of her grander features, have served to 
elevate and inspire their souls with a fresh and 
purer life. These ever lead them to that higher 



110 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

and holier source whence springs eternal truth. In 
them, Poetry often finds her bright original, and 
from them, like the Ausonian king from the wood- 
nymph, does she often receive that wisdom, and that 
vital energy, which the tainted breath of cities can 
never give. From this fountain-head, Byron and 
Shelley, Wordsworth and Bryant, drew breathing 
thoughts and burning words, and transmuted into 
language which will be eternal that inner life of 
Nature which none could so well appreciate as 
they. To faculties like theirs, a view from a lofty 
mountain-top is full of the deepest and most profit- 
able enjoyment, and who would blame them for 
incurring some risk to life and limb that they might 
attain it. 

There are those that prefer the dreamy and se- 
ductive delights of Italy to this barren home of the 
mountaineer. But fascinatincr as are the charms 
which rise like an exhalation on every side in that 
land of the sun, one is ere long cloyed with such a 
Capuan existence. Repletion soon recalls purer 
and more profitable enjoyments. It is pleasing for 
the moment to yield to temptation, and wander 
from Elysium to Elysium ; but the vigorous and 
healthy intellect, with natural sympathy and earnest 
longing, rises from the enervating plains of Italy to 
the rocky and toilsome heights of Switzerland, and 
sees them ever spanned with the bow of promise. 
Yet even that power which cometh from the hills 
is not all-satisfying, and those who have penetrated 



ZERMATT. Ill 

most deeply into the grand and mysterious temples 
that adorn this Forum of Nature, have found even 
them but the vestibules that led to greater splen- 
dors of the mind. They then were conscious of a 
broader grasp of vital truths, and could expatiate 
with a wider range o'er all the field of man. Plato 
resorted to Egypt to study the wisdom of its people. 
He saw above and beyond it, and made it but the 
stepping-stone for his own lofty and transcendent 
genius. The philosophers of our day frequent the 
Alps, and there find an inspiration of which they 
never dreamed. Not only have they discovered 
the living fountains of beauteous and sublime, but 
the results of all-embracing mental power. How 
greatly have they been thus aided in that wide and 
successful study of natural science which is the 
controlling influence on our age ! And not the 
naturahst alone, but the historian, the poet, the 
artist, the man of letters, all have here vivified 
their genius, and hence drawn new truths for our 
learning. Gibbon, Byron, De Saussure, Agassiz, 
Tyndall, Rousseau, Chateaubriand, Coleridge, Davy, 
De Stael, Sismondi, De Candalle, Forbes, and a 
host of others, — what of spiritual life and far-reach- 
ing wisdom have they not derived from this source ! 
In what eloquent, what majestic language, have 
they imparted it to the world ! Conscious of new 
faculties, they learned from the inner mysteries un- 
folded to them that " the strength of the hills is 
His also." Knowing; that their discoveries of hid- 



112 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

den law, compared with tlie illimitable deeps of 
Nature, were but as bubbles on the ocean's surface, 
they yet might well glory in their expanding life, 
and increased sympathy with her workings. Ex- 
alted by the glimpses vouchsafed to them of the 
splendors to come, they might well rejoice that 
they could find fitting words in which to confide 
them to their fellow-men. 

The " various language " which Natiu'e speaks 
has, in modern times, found many interpreters. 
How infinitely do our poets gain in this respect over 
those of ancient Greece and Rome. To them, the 
voices of Nature were ever mute and her varied 
features unsuggestive. To them, '' great Pan " 
was, in reality, always dead, and the fantastic crea- 
tions of rough satyrs and fauns with cloven heel, of 
nymphs and dryads, with Avhich they sought to 
people the forests and enliven the waste places of 
the earth, were merely the fruit of a morbid imagi- 
nation that craved it knew not what. They thus 
showed rather the shallowness and sterility of their 
minds, than the rich abundance of an intellect re- 
fined and vivified by communion with Nature. 
Notwithstanding their assumptions and lofty aspira- 
tions, they were merely the equals in this respect 
of the humblest peasant. 

'^ A primrose by the river's brim 
A yellow primrose was to him, — 
And it was nothing more." 

And it was only this to them. 



ZERMATT. 113 

When the fullness of time was come and " the 
oracles were dumb ; " when the Son of God re- 
vealed lumself to the eyes of men, and before the 
brightness of His presence the whole multitude of 
deified ghosts — those " flocking shadows pale " — 
" trooped to the infernal jail," He was not only 
the Apostle of Religion but of Nature. He availed 
Himself of her inexhaustible resources in a spirit of 
the deepest poetry, and ever presented her myriad 
forms to those who waited upon His words, fi-om the 
lilies of the field to the cedars of Lebanon. Like 
our own great minister of truth and friend of Na- 
ture, He, too, found " tongues in trees, books in the 
running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in 
everything," and of their large utterance. He, also, 
was Lord. And this feature of itself, is no mean 
recommendation of the Christian religion, that it 
contains within its bosom those sympathies which 
ever broaden and deepen more and more with the 
progress of humanity, and which at the day of 
revelation, as well as in our own, wese the invis- 
ible chains by which the whole earth every way is 
"bound about the feet of God;" they shall yet 
draw us by influences, slow yet sure, into the pres- 
ence of the great Soul of Nature Himself, and in His 
light shall we see that Hgh*t which infinite wisdom 
has concealed firom our feeble vision. 



CHAPTER IX. 

MONT BLANC. 

Literary men have done much for Switzerland, 
and this seems but natural to those who reflect how 
great is the gain they have derived from it. The 
evidences thereof abound on every side. At Ferney 
Voltaire lived and wrote ; at Lausanne they still 
take pride in pointing out the garden and the site of 
the arbor in which Gibbon completed the work that 
immortalized his name ; Chillon, the home of an- 
cient splendor, the scene of long continued and un- 
deserved suffering, the centre of one of the fairest 
prospects that Nature ever offered to the eye of 
man, derives a further lustre from the great name 
of Byron, whose stirring lines excite anew our sym- 
pathy for human woe. What Childe Harold was 
to Chillon, that in his way was Albert Smith to 
Chamonix. Most of my readers have heard of this 
author ; many of them have read his works ; some 
of them, perhaps, have attended his entertainments 
in London, and still call to mind with interest the 
irresistibly laughable and humorous air with which 
he portrayed the attractions of Chamonix and Mont 
Blanc. These " evenings " were immensely popu- 



MONT BLANC. 115 

lar, and the result was very beneficial both to the 
speaker's pockets and those of the villagers whose 
pecuharities he so Avhimsically set forth. Thou- 
sands of people who heard him in the winter and 
laughed till they cried, betook themselves with their 
families to Chamonix in the summer, and it was, in 
many cases, entirely owing to Albert Smith that 
they did so. The inhabitants were not ungrateful, 
and in the course of time almost looked upon him 
as their patron saint. This feeling arose not merely 
from his exhibitions and writings in their behalf, but 
from their acquaintance with the man. Every year 
he went among them, and fairly won their hearts by 
his genial temperament and the many kindnesses 
which his natural benevolence led him to do for 
them. Now that he has passed away, they still dis- 
play the most affectionate regard for his memory, 
and I was really surprised to find how strong had 
been his hold upon them. Every one speaks of 
liim with respect, and the many who knew him, re- 
gret his loss as that of a friend. The rooms which 
he used to occupy at the Hotel de Londres are still 
adorned with the words, " Apartments of Mr. Al- 
bert Smidt." In the bureau of the same house is 
his portrait, as he appeared when giving his " one 
thousandth representation " of the merits of Chamo- 
nix and its vicinity at Egyptian Hall. The Hkeness 
is quite good, and portrays him " in his habit as he 
hved," portly, stout, and jolly, with that expression 
of infinite bonhomie which used to give such a finish- 



116 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

ing touch to those deUneations of character in which 
he was so fehcitous. 

Near this picture was another. It represented a 
man of middle age, in a voluminous cloak with a 
somewhat imposing aspect. He was bolt upright as 
if he never sat down, and his attitude suggested all 
the great men wdio stood for their portraits from 
Demosthenes down to Daniel O'Connell. I asked 
the landlord who it was. He said, " Mr. Smith's 
brother." I then begged to know why it was there. 
" Because it is Mr. Smith's brother." And this 
was the whole thing in a nutshell. It Avas simply a 
case of reflected glory. Mr. B. Smith was sunning 
himself in the rays of Mr. A. Smith's splendor, 
merely because he was " a man and a brother." 
He beamed from the wall, as who should say, 
" Look at what my brother has done for the world, 
and then admire me." It was after all an excusable 
bit of vanity, at least in that latitude. The Smith 
family is rather large, and heretofore their fame has 
not been very great, except as a family. It was quite 
natural, therefore, that in this case the survivors 
should jump at the chance of making as handsome 
a dividend as possible out of their illustrious rela- 
tive's remains. 

All the world has read, heard, or sung, — 

" Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains ; 
They crowned him long ago." 

This was universally acknowledged to be ti*ue 
when the poet wrote it, but of late years the tend- 



MONT BLANC. 117 

ency has been to dispute the supremacy of this po- 
tentate. While Mr. Smith was hving and acted as 
his prime minister, and puffed him and his pohcy 
before crowds of people in the metropolis, all went 
well with him, and he was sure of his throne. 
Every year or two this corpulent Bismark, being 
rather too stout to climb, was pushed and pulled by 
brawny guides into his sovereign's presence, and 
told everybody about it in the most winning and 
agreeable way when he came back. But now he 
and his lively tongue are no more. The Alpine 
Club have gained the popular ear, and, under their 
guidance, the fickle crowd have transferred their al- 
legiance to Zermatt and the Matterhorn. Most of 
the club have ascended Mont Blanc ; some of them 
two or three times ; and after mature investigation 
have decided that there is in his realm a fatal de- 
ficiency of perpendicular precipices and bottomless 
crevasses. To be sure, these are to be found there, 
and a few lives have been lost in consequence ; but 
there are not enough of them to prevent everybody 
that don't belong to '' our club " from returning 
alive, and therefore the whole thing has been 
voted " stale, flat, and unprofitable." All the Alp- 
ists who have any regard for their reputation, have 
rushed off to the Jungfrau and the Matterhorn. 
There one can be tolerably certain of breaking his 
own neck, or somebody else's, or, at least, of short- 
ening his life by a few years, wdiile " the outside 
barbarians " are cautioned for the most part to 
stand still and admire from a distance. 



118 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

If the only object in cKmbing lofty mountains 
were to show what suicidal heights might be attained 
without actual death, perhaps the world might af- 
ford to be disturbed at the sneers of the Alpine 
Club. But there is, I claim, a higher end than that, 
which some of these gentlemen fail to comprehend. 
As I have before remarked, the love of scenery is 
elevating and ennobling to many minds. To a cer- 
tain class, it offers a fascination which is almost irre- 
sistible. If these can satisfy their desire without 
mortal danger, it is so much the better, though it is 
not strange that they are often temj^ted to risk their 
lives, that they may enjoy the magnificence of those 
regions "where Alpine solitudes extend." The 
prize to be won is glorious, and worthy of the great- 
est sacrifices and exertions. It is grand indeed, 
compared with the mere ambition of mounting 
higher than any one else has ever been. The view 
from the top of Mont Blanc, when the air is clear, 
is sublime beyond all that the tongue can describe, 
and no one can see it without feelino; in his inmost 
soul an appreciation of the transcendent beauty 
which has been bestowed upon man for his enjoy- 
ment, and a determination to make himself more 
worthy of it in future. And yet, in spite of the dis- 
dain of the Alpine Club, this crowning glory is by no 
means easy to secure. The ascent of Mont Blanc 
is still sufficiently difficult, dangerous, and exhaust- 
ing for the majority of aspirants. It should not 
be undertaken by any one who has not a vigorous 



MONT BLANC. 119 

constitution, a clear head, and strong powers of 
endurance. The perils actually undergone are 
great ; the possible ones, much greater and more 
numerous. The elements here work their will 
uncontrolled, and the pedestrian is never safe 
from the hazard of avalanches, mists, snow-storms, 
winds, and thick clouds. Those who have suc- 
ceeded in reaching the top are very conscious of 
the risks they run, so much so, that few care to 
encounter them a second time. 

The path to Mont Blanc leads at first to a little 
chalet called La Pierre jPointue, which is situ- 
ated at the head of a steep ascent overlooking the 
villao'e of Chamonix. Thouo;h not unsafe, it is 
tedious from the infinite number of zigzags, so that 
to most climbers it would really be quite a relief, if 
a few precipices or crevasses were scattered along 
the route, if only for the sake of variety. Up to 
this etape our party consisted of but three, to wit, 
two young Englishmen and myself. We had three 
guides and two porters. The elder of my compan- 
ions regarded himself as no end of a walker, 
and having concluded to reach the top long before 
any one else, had already arranged with his guide 
to descend by a different route. He was to cross 
from the highest point to the Dome du Groute, the 
next peak ; thence to another called the Aiguille du 
Croute ; and from thence he proposed to go down to 
the valley by the G^lacier du Taconay. Whether he 
did it or not, remains to be seen. His friend, some- 



120 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

what younger than he, said little, but walked very 
well and appeared quite equal to anything we in- 
tended to do. At La Pierre Pointue we found a 
Frenchman, who was awaiting our arrival with the 
idea of accompanying us. Considering what he was 
to go through, his costume was rather astounding. 
He wore a suit of blue cloth for summer wear and 
in the latest style. He was daintily got up as to his 
cravat and vest, and his hair was glossy " with thine 
incomparable oil, Macassar." His boots were of 
thin calf- skin, and had doubtless often cut a distin- 
guished figure on the Boulevards. His upper ex- 
tremities were tipped with a black hat and a pair of 
lisfht-brown kid Moves. It was easv to see that he 
would be the hete noire of the whole expedition, and 
as soon as I perceived him I decided to keep as far 
from him as possible. The rest of the party had 
left their " store close " at the Hotel de Londres., and 
were dressed in thick suits with plenty of under- 
clothing, heavy boots with sharp nails in the soles, 
and felt hats. We had also stout mittens, worsted 
helmets to cover our heads and necks, and the usual 
supply of veils and blue glasses for the protection 
of the eyes and face. Our legs were enveloped in 
leggins of coarse cloth which came up to the knee. 
We left the chalet at two o'clock, and made our 
way towards the head of the Grlaeier des Bossons, 
over which our path ran. We reached it in an 
hour, and prepared to cross it by roping ourselves 
together at distances of ten feet. The sun shone 



MONT BLANC. 121 

brightly upon the snow and ice, and the heat was 
intense. The reflected rays burnt the skin and daz- 
zled the eyes, and we were glad to put on our veils 
and glasses. The surface of the glacier was broken 
and confused as the ice-floe of the polar seas. 
Giant piles of snow and ice were heaved up in 
tumultuous and chaotic disorder, as if by some tre- 
mendous explosion. Toppling over and leaning 
upon each other, were lofty and irregular columns, 
like the towers of a city after an earthquake. In 
their profound depths could be seen dark blue illim- 
itable caverns, grand in their deceitful beauty, and 
hung with icicles, the last gift of the setting sun. 
At intervals the ice-mass was torn and rifted apart 
by enormous fissures far too broad to leap over, and 
occasionally spanned by the treacherous arch of a 
snow-bridge. Here and there, from these abysses 
where no eye could penetrate, arose a solitary pier 
of ice, partially covered with snow, and offering an 
uncertain and perilous footing. Over and through 
all these we slowly advanced. Now we wound with 
cautious step around the base of some icy crag ; 
now leaped from one slippery edge to another ; now 
threaded the verge of a glassy ravine, and again 
mounted or descended slowly over the soft and oily 
snow to another enormous rift and another dubious 
jump. To manage these glacier passages with suc- 
cess, demands no little skill and judgment. The 
veils make the eye-sight dim, the face hot, and the 
respiration uncomfortable. One can hardly see 



122 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

where to place his feet. Often the alpenstock can- 
not be used, though generally it is the greatest aid 
an expert mountaineer can have. With a man tied 
ten feet behind you, and a second the same distance 
before, it is not a little difficult in many places to 
decide how far one can leap with safety. One goes 
slowly down a slippery buttress in which his guide 
has cut steps, and which projects part way across a 
huge rift. At the end is a jump of several feet, 
over which the guide has passed. If you spring too 
soon, you wrench the man behind off his footing 
into the chasm, or perchance miss the leap, and are 
pulled in yourself. If you fail to advance quickly 
enough, you are jerked off your standing by your 
predecessor, who must, of course, throw himself 
upon the opposite ledge sufficiently far for his own 
security. 

After about two and a half hours of this progress 
we reached the Grrands-Mulets, This name is ap- 
plied to a long ridge of sharp peaks that rise per- 
pendicularly from the snow some distance beyond 
the fiirther side of the glacier. Formerly there was 
to be found here a hut of stone, containing one apart- 
ment, where the first night was spent by those as- 
cending Mont Blanc. This year a new edifice has 
been erected just below the old one, which is of 
wood and more commodious. It embraces two 
rooms, and that the world may be suitably im- 
pressed with the increased grandeur of the estab- 
lishment, it has been endowed with the proud 



MONT BLANC. 123 

name of Le Grand Hotel Imperial des Grands- 
3Iulets^ which title T took great pains to copy ver- 
hatim. The resources of this great caravanserai 
are not so stupendous as its name. The furniture 
consisted of three bedsteads and four mattresses, a 
table to let down from the wall, a rusty stove, five 
pine stools, and some straw. The plate was com- 
posed of ten iron cups, ingeniously tinned to imi- 
tate silver ; the same number of iron spoons, also 
tinned ; and six or seven earthen platters. There 
was also a huge tin pail. Mine host's larder con- 
tained nothing but a loaf of bread as large as the 
shield of Achilles, and about as hard, and several 
million tons of snow, which lay about loosely in 
every direction, as far as the eye could reach, and 
from which, with the aid of the tin pail and the 
stove, he manufactured the necessary water for his 
cuisine. Directly before the front door was a gap, 
as broad as the Red Sea and as difficult to cross, 
which made the hotel a bad lodmno* for somnambu- 
lists, that is, provided any one were so fortunate as 
to find sleep enough to walk in upon such a desolate 
height. 

On reaching the hotel, the foreign auxiliary had 
already begun to suffer from the pangs of vaulting 
ambition. He was, as might have been expected, 
thoroughly used up. His face was of the color of 
one of H. B. M.'s grenadiers, and macassar and 
])erspiration ran together in mingled streams over it. 
He threw himself upon a mattress completely ex- 



124 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

bausted, and for fifteen minutes neither moved nor 
spoke. Being then asked if he would hke some- 
thing to eat, he said he proj)osed first to look at the 
sunset. We sat down, and he finally arose, and seiz- 
ing a small copy of Rousseau's " Emile," elegantly 
bound in green and gold, which he carried wher- 
ever he went, took alternate bites at that and the 
sun for at least twenty minutes. He had it all to 
himself, for his own body and the remains of his 
favorite author entirely filled the only window in 
the room. Meanwhile the elder of the tw^o English- 
men had been eao:er to show how fresh he was after 
his pull, and, on arriving at the cabin, had at once 
climbed up a steep spur of the Cfrands-Mulets. He 
had mounted about fifteen feet, when he missed his 
foothold and came down against our frail dormitory 
with a shock that threatened to plunge it, proud 
name and all, into the abyss befox-e it. He was not 
much hurt, and only lacerated his wrists against the 
stones ; but I could not help thinking that, as far as 
two of our party were concerned, the prospects for 
the morrow were not very encouraging. At eight 
o'clock we retired to bed, but not to sleep. There 
were three mattresses for four people, upon three 
bedsteads which were let down fi'om the wall by 
hinges. They were all placed closely together, side 
by side, so as to form one grand plateau. Room was 
made upon them for four gentry and one guide. 
Another guide possessed himself of a corner, va- 
cant, though not much so, w^hile the landlord en- 



MONT BLANC. 125 

camped on some straw under tlie table, and snored 
away melllfluouslj, though it struck me that the 
sound was too artificial, and made hj him design- 
edly, for the same reason that Voltaire said the un- 
fortunate Admiral Byng was shot, — '^ pour encour- 
ager les autres.^^ In the next room the rest of the 
guides and porters, as they lay on the floor, chatted 
and sang, and sang and chatted, with an occasional 
burst of silence. Nobody did any sleep, though 
everybody talked and asked everybody else why 
he did n't keep quiet and go to rest. The novelty 
of the situation, the exhilarating quahties of the at- 
mosphere at that elevation, and the natural excite- 
ment of possible dangers prevented all repose, and 
at two o'clock there was a general uprising. For 
so short a night, it seemed to me the longest I ever 
passed. 

The landlord bustled about with a thousand cares 
preying upon his mind, and prepared some refresh- 
ment with the air of one conscious of great re- 
sources. A little tea was heated in a bottle, the 
fearful taste of which I shall not soon forget ; and a 
" Potage au natureV^ was made by melting a quan- 
tity of snow in the tin pail and soaking thin chips of 
bread therein, till they were quite warm. The 
Frenchman was slow to come to time, but as we 
threatened to go off and leave him, he finally 
emerged from the tomb where we had been so long 
immured. He had obviously decided that he must 
take care of his complexion, but otherwise had got 



126 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

himself up as if for a morning call. He was draw- 
ing on his kids as he came out. He wore a mask 
of white linen, with holes for the mouth and nose, 
and apertures for the goggles, as large as tea-cups, 
which concealed his eyes. Over his head he had 
drawn a black worsted helmet that fitted tightly 
round the mask. As he stood in the doorway in 
the light of a dim candle, he said nothing, but looked 
all about in deathly silence. His aspect was pre- 
cisely that of a skeleton ; and all the ghosts that I 
had ever heard of, from " the sheeted dead " in the 
Roman streets down to Dion Bourcicault in " the 
Phantom," from Lazarus to " Alonzo the Brave," 
passed before me in a horrid panorama. The 
guides said it was indispensable that we should pro- 
ceed in two bodies, and of course it was my fortune 
to be yoked to this French hobgoblin. 

At half past two we started. Nothing could be 
grander than the spectacle before us. The air was 
clear and cold. Not a breath stirred, and the stars 
powdered the sky in myriads. I never before saw 
them so numerous, so vividly near, or so brightly 
golden. The thin crescent of the waning moon was 
just visible over the sharp peaks of the Grands- 
Mulets, Her radiance did not equal that of the 
morning-star, and was hardly greater than that of 
the rest of her orb, which could be plainly seen by 
the earth-light. At our feet was the black gulf 
with its unfathomable depths, and beyond, the broad 
and boundless wastes of snow that mounted steeply 



MONT BLANC. 12T 

towards the summit. High above towered the 
rocky and siiow-draped walls which surrounded 
them. They were already lit up with a strange 
glow from the glittering expanse beneath, and 
seemed to marshal us the way that we were go- 
ing. The first guide bore a lantern, and so did the 
last. These shed a weird and fantastic light over 
our path, and were the only features wanting to 
complete the romantic and startling aspect of the 
scene. The brush of Rembrandt, or the pencil of 
Gustave Dore, alone could have done it justice. In 
solemn silence we moved on, while our host w^aved 
us a salute fi'om the door. The candle behind him 
cast his giant shadow far over the broad opening on 
to the white slope beyond, and as he raised his 
arm, the cloudy figure seemed to beckon us on to a 
mysterious and uncertain doom. We strode forward 
into the night. We were sands on the sea-shore, 
mere atoms in the immensity of space, waifs of hu 
manity cast upon the lonely spaces of an immeas- 
urable desert. 

Slowly, and at first toilsomely, we advanced over 
the zifTzacrs cut in the frozen snow. The French- 
man soon gave out. First he removed his helmet 
to obtain more air, and then tore off his mask. 
Finally he sat down and panted for breath. He 
was utterly used up already, and finding that he 
would probably be unable to make the ascent, I 
required my guide, who did it very unwillingly, 
to loosen the rope and go on with me. At half 



128 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

past five we reached the Grand Plateau, after 
mounting slope after slope of icy crust that stretched 
out before as in almost interminable vista. Here 
the way was more level, and we advanced with 
greater rapidity. Part of our route had lain over 
the debris of enormous avalanches which had been 
hurled fi'om the heights above, great masses of 
snow and blocks of ice that would overwhelm an 
army. They still threatened to faH, and the guides 
hurried us on at the best of our speed. The grow- 
ing light had now rendered our lanterns useless, 
and the sun was casting a broad band of yellow 
over the giant dome that rose before us. One by 
one the other summits were gladdened by his bright 
effulgence, and their glory irradiated our path. 
For an hour we moved slowly on over that vast 
steppe, and then approached the Corridor. This is 
a frozen wall springing suddenly ft'om the top of a 
rapid incline of snow that leads to a wide and 
deep crevasse. Here great care was needed, for 
the way was almost perpendicular, and the dripping 
ooze from above, melted by the sun's rays, had 
consolidated into hard ice, and every step had to be 
cut in its compact and glassy mass. One guide 
went cautiously forward with his axe, and all fol- 
lowed. I had already united my rope to that of 
my companions. For a hundred paces we crept up 
foot by foot till a gentler ascent was reached, where 
we could move with increased safety. Here the 
older Englishman, who had before showed signs of 



MONT BLANC. 129 

exhaustion, was entirely prostrated, and could go 
no further. He looked like death, and could hardly 
sit up from faintness. We decided to wait a httle, 
in hopes that rest would enable him to proceed. 
He was plucky and anxious to go on, and greatly 
mortified at his failure. In five minutes he made 
another attempt, but was now obliged to give it up. 
He had been able to reach this spot only by the aid 
of a span of guides, wdio had pulled him forward, 
like a yoke of oxen, by the ropes attached to his 
waist. At his last effort he had not strength 
enough to keep his feet in the path, but reeled to 
and fro like a di'unken man. We could do nothing 
for him, and the guides had already dosed him to 
the best of their ability. They had given him bits 
of chocolate to dissolve in his mouth ; peppermint- 
lozenges, which they called pastilles ; dried prunes, 
bread, cold tea, cold coffee, brandy, red wine, and 
a few other trifles that I can't recollect. It was 
impossible to avoid admiring the courage that had 
sustained him so long in spite of such numerous 
obstacles. He at length saw the folly of further 
exertions, and begged his friend and myself to leave 
him. We did so, though deeply pitying him, and 
confided him to the care of his own guide and por- 
ter, after they had tried to carry him forward in 
their arms and failed. 

By reason of this and other detentions, it was 
eight o'clock when we arrived at the Mur de la 
Cote. This is the most dangerous part of the way. 

9 



130 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

It is a precipice of ice nearly perpendicular and four 
hundred feet high. The surface is rough, and here 
and there covered with ridges or projections of hard 
snow, which afford a precarious footing to those who 
have the temerity to climb it. At the bottom are 
the sharp and jagged rocks which bristle up from the 
top of a second precipice, and render the ascent 
tenfold more perilous. Wearily and tediously we 
now advanced, my guide going first and laboriously 
cutting track upon track in zigzag after zigzag. It 
seemed as if it would never cease, this standing be- 
tween heaven and earth, life and death, tenaciously 
clutching my alpenstock and pressing it firmly into 
the ice, while I rested against the cliff and supported 
myself on one foot, till a step was hewn out for the 
other. My life, too, did not depend solely on my own 
vigilance, for if either of the four made a slip, nothing 
could avert destruction. One could only be patient, 
cautious about looking down, and take especial pains 
not to follow with his eyes the lumps of ice and 
snow which rolled from the axe of our pioneer. For 
three quarters of an hour this went on. It seemed 
an age. The higher we mounted, the steeper grew 
the path, and it was not till our position became ab- 
solutely fearful, that we reached the top and came 
out into a safer route. It was here that we first 
began to notice the effects of the extreme rarity of 
the air. Mont Blanc is fifteen thousand seven hun- 
dred and eighty-four feet in height, and at such an 
elevation the atmosphere is much less dense than at 



MONT BLANC. 131 

the level of the sea. I found my respiration some- 
what impeded and much quicker than before, far 
more so than on ^lonte Rosa. Mj companion was 
quite distressed by this difficulty of breathing, and 
for the last few hundred steps was obliged to sit 
dow^n repeatedly and recover himself before going 
on. My porter here Avas unable to go further, and 
sat down and stayed where he was till my return. 

The crown of Mont Blanc is a gigantic dome of 
ice called La Calotte^ and our last and most fatigu- 
ing pull was over its slope to the summit. Fortu- 
nately for us, it was largely covered with snow, and 
not many steps were needed to insure our safety. 
It w^as intensely cold, and a bitter stinging blast 
swept relentlessly over and seemingly through us. 
With ever increasing lassitude we slowly drew our- 
selves forward. It was not without apprehension 
that I passed near the spot where, thirteen days be- 
fore, Mr. Bulkley Young had made the fatal misstep 
that caused his death. Since that time till now, 
no one had succeeded in reaching the top, though 
two attempts had been made. It had been the 
solitary abode of clouds, and storm, and darkness, 
and the winds of heaven had mournfully sung the 
requiem of the parted spirit. At ten o'clock I 
stood upon the final crest, and the rich rew^ard of 
my exertions lay outspread before me. Surely the 
world cannot show a more magnificent prospect 
than this. The sky was cloudless, and the view in 
every direction seemed almost unlimited. All Swit- 



132 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

zerland lay like a map at my feet. I could look 
down upon her highest mountains. Monte Rosa, 
the Breithorn, the Mischabelhorner, the Jungfrau, 
the Matterhorn, the Finster-Aarhorn, and the other 
resplendent peaks of the Bernese Oberland, — I 
predominated over them all. Deeply framed among 
them were the myriad waters of this glorious comi- 
try, the lakes of Geneva and Lucerne, of Thun and 
Wallenstadt, and a thousand others. Towards the 
south the eye ranged over Italy, from the Gulf of 
Genoa and the dark blue of the jVIediterranean, to 
the green meadows and fertile plains of Lombardy 
and the Lago Maggiore. To the west extended 
the vine-clad fields and valleys of France ; while 
towards the north and east I could see, far beyond 
the thickly clustering mountains, the hills of Baden 
and the gloomy drapery of the Black Forest. At 
my feet the stupendous masses of snow steeply de- 
scended to the valley of Chamonix, while to the right 
lay the village of La Saxe on the Italian side. It 
seemed almost exactly beneath us, so abrupt are the 
southern bluffs of the mountain. As the landmarks 
of this vast panorama gradually unfolded themselves 
to our minds and we could comprehend it in all 
its scope, it was impossible to avoid a feeling of 
exultation that our ascent had been thus trium- 
phantly successful, and had secured us an intellect- 
ual delight which few are permitted to enjoy. 

As we placed our feet on the loftiest ridge, we 
heard faintly the thunder of the cannon with which 



MONT BLANC. 133 

they are accustomed at Chamonix to announce the 
safe arrival of those who reach the top. In the dis- 
tance I could see the stragglers painfully toiling on, 
in the hope of one day arriving at their destination. 
A dim speck denoted the Frenchman, still clinging 
to his light-colored kids and black hat. Why his 
hands were not frozen stiflp, I could never under- 
stand. A guide was pulling him before and an- 
other pushed behind. His pangs were evidently 
unutterable, but he still kept en route as if, like the 
Wandering Jew, he was fated to go incessantly for- 
ward. A little nearer was the Englishman with 
his team of bipeds, who certainly earned their 
wages on this occasion, if any men ever did. He 
was pluckily swaying to and fro in his efforts to 
scale the peak in time to climb his other two peaks 
before sunset. On a rock at the base of the dome 
w^as my porter, evidently regarding himself safer 
and more at his ease where he was than farther up. 
There was no romance to him, poor fellow, in the 
ascent of Mont Blanc ! Considering the amount 
of brag with which the rest of the party had started, 
this portion of the view was to me but little less at- 
tractive than the other features. 

In a short time, the Arctic cold and the piercing 
wind made our situation extremely uncomfortable. 
The bleak air seemed to whistle through our very 
bones. No clothing could keep it out. In twenty 
minutes we prepared to descend, first, however, 
drinking the health of the glorious old potentate in 



134 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

a bottle of champagne which my attendant had 
brought up. Our throats were parched, and we 
could swallow but a few mouthfuls of solid food, and 
that with difficulty. The distressing effects that are 
often said to follow from a visit to the top of Mont 
Blanc, did not attend upon either my companion 
or myself. There was no bleeding at the nose or 
mouth, and no trouble in hearing anything that was 
said ; though Dr. Pitschner, who went up in 1859, 
states that he could not understand a word from 
his guide, when fifteen paces off. I could distin- 
guish the voices of my companion and cicerone ap- 
parently as clearly as when on lower ground. Even 
our breathing was unobstructed, while we remained 
quiet and made no exertion. 

Our progress down was much more hazard- 
ous and disagreeable, though more rapid, than the 
ascent. The Mur de la Cote and the Corridor 
were extremely dangerous and slippery, and we, 
of course, had not the strength of body with which 
we started. Half way down the latter, my guide 
lost the spike from his alpenstock, and was forced 
to lower himself by clutching step after step, as if 
with eagle's claws. The sun was now some hours 
high, and the snow soon became very soft and deep. 
For miles it was over our knees, and its effect was 
enervating in the extreme. The ardent reflection 
of the blazing rays from the broad plains and ghs- 
tening crags, scorched our skins and blinded our 
eyes, in spite of veils and goggles. The heat al- 



MONT BLANC. 135 

most stifled us at times, as we plodded on drearily 
and laboriously. In some places it was safe to 
make a glissade down the more easy inclines, and 
seating ourselves one behind the other, and steering 
with our alpenstocks, we glided on at a rapid pace. 
It needed some dexterity, however, to avoid be- 
ing overturned and drawn down head foremost. 
Though I succeeded in keeping my seat, the result 
was disastrous to my apparel, of wdiich it would re- 
quire a pretty stout suit to make more than a dozen 
such transits. Never were people more delighted 
than were we at the sight of the Grand Hotel Impe- 
rial des G-rands-Mulets, though w^e were too anx- 
ious to reach Chamonix to remain long. In half an 
hour, that is at one and a half, we left the house, 
and after a long and treacherous way across the 
glacier, which the soft snow rendered exceedingly 
perilous, reached La Pierre Pointue^ and from 
thence descended to the village at five o'clock. We 
were received with the usual w^elcome of cannon, 
champagne, enthusiastic volleys of questions from 
our fair countrywomen, shaking of hands, and gen- 
eral congratulations, on our safe arrival. We w^ere 
deeply thankful at the result of our expedition, but 
were unanimously of opinion that nothing wdiatever 
would tempt us to repeat it; though the next day 
my companion and myself were as well as usual, 
and suffered no ill effects from the climb except los- 
ing the skin from our faces. 



CHAPTER X. 

HOTEL BOOKS AND THEIR DROLLERIES. 

I PRESUME most people have heard of the anec- 
dote which Sh' Walter Scott used to tell with so 
much zest of one of his tenants, to whom he had 
loaned a copy of Johnson's Dictionary. It was re- 
turned in a few days with the grave remark that 
" they were braw stories, but unco short." This 
observation, by the way, contains much more truth 
than most people think, as would doubtless be 
readily acknowledged by any one, even at the pres- 
ent day, who should devote an hour to that pon- 
derous tome. It is full of the most admirable quo- 
tations, selected with wonderful tact and skill, and 
well repays perusal, from the impression it conveys 
of the resources of the English language. There 
is really very little " Johnsonese," compared with 
our own tongue, and the " words of learned length 
and thundering sound " with which the author used 
to smite the world, only appear now and then, like 
the sea-serpent or the phoenix. The farmer's re- 
mark applies with equal truth to another kind of 
literature, different in its style and origin, yet 
unique in its way, and that is the contents of the 



HOTEL BOOKS AND THEIR DROLLERIES. 137 

books in which travellers enter their names and 
other scraps of information at the various hotels in 
Switzerland. These form quite an entertaining re- 
cord of personal peculiarities and odd conceits, 
mixed with many bits of useful knowledge, though 
relating, for the most part, to mountain trips and 
the condition of the different inns. 

I have sometimes devoted a leisure half hour to 
reading the entries for years back, and have invaria- 
bly been amused. It is interesting to notice in 
what characteristic v/ays the national temperament 
of tourists is displayed. The Germans and Italians 
often break forth into song, and one sees whole 
rivers, or more properly canals, of poetry, " hateful 
to gods and men," spread over the pages. This is 
generally of poor quality, and only serves to show 
how vainly the enthusiasm of the writers has 
striven to give the essence of a fine view, or other 
natural attraction, in fitting language. It was an 
effusion of this kind that the late Albert Smith in- 
scribed years ago in the travellers' book at Montan- 
vert. This is a little mountain, or rather hill, of 
easy ascent, near Chamonix, and is famous for its 
imposing prospect of the Mer de Glace. Having 
mounted to the top, which is about two hours from 
the village, panthig and puffing, " eying his watch 
and now his forehead mopping," Mr. Smith was 
suddenly struck with the grandeur of the scene, and 
sat down with the intention of letting the world 
know it in metrical heroics. What he actually 



138 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

wrote no one can tell, for the book has disappeared, 
and I found on inquiry not the slightest trace of it ; 
but the verse could hardly have been of the sort 
that posterity does not willingly let die, for the 
bard, having signed it merely with his initials, dis- 
covered on a subsequent visit that the next comer 
had added as a commentary on the text, " Only 
two-thirds of the truth," and with malicious rail- 
lery placed it directly under his signature. 

Albert Smith was one of the most cheerful-tem- 
pered men ever known, and used to ^tell this story 
with great satisfaction,^ though it was against him- 
self. He appears to have subsequently changed his 
ideas as to the style of poesy suited to that locality, 
for in his " Christopher Tadpole " — which clever 
book, by the way, he dedicated to Judge Talfourd 
— he makes "Mrs. Hamper," on her visit to the 
same spot, attach the following lines to her auto- 
graph : — 

" Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains; 
They crowned him long ago ; 
But who they got to put it on 
We don't exactly know." 

The " A. S." story suggests to me another exam- 
ple of Albert Smith's ineffable good humor, which, 
while it rendered him an admirable, long-suflPering, 
and inexhaustible butt for Douglass Jerrold, also 
made him a most entertaining and genial compan- 
ion. I will venture to relate it, thouo;h it is a little 
beyond the range of my subject. When Mr. Smith 



HOTEL BOOKS AND THEIR DROLLERIES. 139 

was giving his famous Alpine experiences and 
" Ascent of Mont Blanc " to crowded audiences in 
London, Buckstone, the lively comedian, travestied 
them on the stage of his theatre, and nightly gave 
the most laughable burlesque of the hero of Cha- 
monix and his exploits. The latter was at the 
chmax of his fame, and so was the former, and peo- 
ple enjoyed each entertainment. They flocked in 
multitudes from Egyptian Hall to the Haymarket, 
and were really in doubt which to admire most, the 
original or the imitation. One evening the latter 
was of more than the usual merit, and all the world 
came to the conclusion that there was no limit to 
the peculiar talents of the actor. The air, the ex- 
pression, the features, the dress, the very voice of 
the unhappy model, were caricatured to perfection. 
In a few days, however, the bottom of this new 
well was reached and truth came out. It seemed 
that Mr. Smith, who had all along known what 
was taking place at the opposition house, had made 
an arrangement with his imitator for hoaxino; the 
public. 

" Let me perform one night at your place. Buck- 
stone, and you may do the same for me at mine. 
Will you agree to it ? " 

" Done," said the latter, and this was the way it 
happened that the people were " done " too. It 
was Albert Smith's way of taking a little quiet 
revenge upon them for making fun of him, or at 
least for helping those who did so. It was entirely 



140 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

in unison witli his genial nature, and for Albert 
Smith to caricature Albert Smith was not at all 
remarkable. 

Though English rhymes are frequently found in 
these travellers' books, they are not often of the 
rhapsodical sort. They are mostly jocose and not 
seldom quite laughable. At Bellagio is to be seen 
a quatrain by an American lady, who appears to 
have been so prostrated by the lovely scenery of 
the Lake of Como as to gush forth in these lines : — 

Oh ! that I had a homo 

Upon the Lake of Como ! 

I 'd laugh and play the live-long day, 

And never wish to roam, Oh ! " 

Under this some gentleman has written : — 

" Where'er we go, where'er we roam, 
It is not good to be alone ; 
Yet pray take care, nor lightly dare 
To tread the path of Col Bon Homme.''^ 

To this an observer had added the words, " Able, 
doubtless, but obscure ; " and so most people would 
probably regard it. 

In the album on the top of the Brevent, near 
Chamonix, — which is eight thousand five hundred 
feet high, and oflPers a noble view of Mont Blanc, — 
where a neat little inn is kept for the " rectification 
of the frontiers " of dilapidated tourists, I saw a 
very spirited drawing intended to illustrate the mis- 
fortunes of one of a party who had found the ascent 
disagree with him. The sufferings of the exhausted 
victim, the ministrations of his friends, and his final 



HOTEL BOOKS AND THEIR DROLLERIES. 141 

recovery were portrayed very cleverly in a series 
of expressive figures, and under the whole were 
these lines : — - 

" There was a young man of Geneva 

That was took v^ry bad with a fever; 

When they brought him a pill, 

He said, I 'm not ill, 

This mendacious young man of Geneva." 

The faculty of interpreting any striking feature 
by a graphic and spirited sketch, that enables one 
with a few strokes of the pen to present the whole 
affair to the eye, belongs especially to the Italians. 
They have a wonderful talent for caricature, as in- 
deed might be inferred from the numberless comic 
papers one meets with everywhere in their country. 
They are always glad of an opportunity to show it, 
and quickly seize upon the humorous and satirical 
elements of any incident. I have seen whole pages 
in the hotel books at out-of-the-way inns covered 
with designs of this nature, that Leech or Doyle 
would have been glad to acknowledge. They 
were fidl of character and life, and evidently gave 
a sort of synopsis of what their authors had just 
experienced. These were almost invariably done 
by Italians. Comic portraits of the landlord, or 
perhaps some waiter, whose absurdities had struck 
their fancy ; the face of a pretty girl and her odd 
country head-dress, wildly exaggerated, yet at first 
glance seen to be accurate ; the figure and dress of 
an eccentric tourist ; a queer incident on the road, 
perchance ; horses in every attitude, dogs, groups of 



142 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

old women washing, venerable beggars, and a thou- 
sand other subjects for a clever pen and a fertile 
brain, rambled over the leaves and left a lasting 
and irresistible impression on the mind of every one 
that saw them. 

These transient records, when written, form a 
sort of secret communication between tourists, 
and especially those from England and America. 
With these they serve for a kind of free-masonry, 
or language in cipher, for at the larger number of 
places, no one can read the writing so as to under- 
stand it, and those who speak English can inscribe 
such opinion of matters and things as they please 
for the benefit of those who come after them, and 
there is no danger of an irascible landlord scratching 
them out. To be sure, one cannot always confide 
in the suggestions of other men as to the condition 
of any particular house. Great allowance must be 
made for peculiar temperaments. There is a vast 
discrepancy in the ideas of different persons con- 
cerning the same hotel, as in regard to everything 
else. What is one man's meat is another's poison, 
and what one considers extortionate and thievish, 
another looks upon as quite fair, and gives no 
thought to the matter. One traveller must always 
have beefsteak for breakfast, and makes a prodigious 
fuss because he can't obtain it at some rarely vis- 
ited place, where they don't kill an ox or a cow 
oftener than once in six months, and then not until 
they have disposed of every morsel of the animal in 



HOTEL BOOKS AND THEIR DROLLERIES. 143 

advance. Another is miserable and dyspeptic, and 
vents his spleen on every domicile he stops at. Tom 
Taylor journeyed two years ago over the same re- 
gion that I lately passed through, and at all the 
inns I saw the following entry, no more, no less, 
''Tom Taylor, — Disgusted!" It was generally 
ill received by those that read it, and was often fol- 
lowed by a reflection somewhat like the ensuing, 
which I copied exactly from the book at Courma- 
yeur : " This intolerable snob has made the same 
hopelessly idiotic entry in several other hotel books, 
with equally ludicrous stupidity and pointlessness." 
This is hitting the nail on the head with a sledge- 
hammer, and it might be well commended to Mr. 
Taylor for use in his next play. It would doubt- 
less make an impression from the force of the lan- 
guage, if not otherwise. 

Another man never ajoes to bed without a warm- 
ing-pan, and puts it down in black and white as a 
solemn admonition to all the world, because he can't 
be accommodated with that luxury. A third always 
drinks sherry, and nothing else, for dinner ; a fourth 
thinks the bread " vile," as he has taken the trouble 
to write, and the tea is always another prolific sub- 
ject of complaint. The English are very fastidious 
in this matter, and generally style the continental 
herb " nasty," which, by the way, is a word they 
are in the habit of applying to everything that does 
not please them. Of course, one must depend upon 
circumstances in forming his judgment, and do his 



144 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

best to extort the truth from many contradictions. 
In some cases, however, the tone of the various 
entries is invariably the same, and one inn was 
fairly extirpated in this way, greatly to the advan- 
tage of the travelling public. Every tourist gave it 
a black record, and, in a few years, it was shunned 
like a pest-house by all Americans and Enghsh. 
This was the Hotel de la Poste at Baveno. Hints 
of this kind are abundant in the vicinity of the 
Italian Lakes : 

" At Baveno, beware of the Hotel de la Poste,^^ 

" The word Rascal ! is written on the face of 
every one at Baveno." 

" Avoid Baveno ; dear, dirty, detestable ; " — 
and many others. 

One unfortunate, who had been constrained to 
pass the night there, concludes his melancholy dia- 
tribe with the words, — which would be ludicrous 
were they not, alas ! too true, — " And the pretty 
chamber-maid has left. She w^as the only article 
that made the inn bearable or pleasant." The re- 
sult of this deluge of abuse, richly deserved as it 
was, is seen in the disappearance of the object of it, 
and now one might as well try to find the Temple 
of Solomon as the Hotel de la Paste at Baveno. 

Many of these records are thoroughly personal 
and characteristic, hke the following in the album 
at Montanvert : — 

" W. B. Banting, London. Try my system." 

" 31lle Amelie de Gr . Deuxieme ascension du 

Montanverty 



HOTEL BOOKS AND THEIR DROLLERIES. 145 

This was the last one m the book at the time of 
my visit a year ago, and naturally excited the 
laughter of all who read it, for the " ascent of the 
Montanvert " is regarded at Chamonix very much 
as a climb to the top of Beacon Hill is at Boston. 

In the Alhergo delV Europa at Ferrara, I met 
with many odd scribblings. 

" The Mrs. Wood. From Florence to Venice, 
April 14, 1852." 

Under this was the brief comment, — 

" What a swell ! " 

" Sir William and Lady Symonds and servants, 
from Rome to Venice." 

To this the same austere commentator had 
added, — 

" Why not retinue at once ? " 

A few hues below appeared, in letters of impos- 
ing size, — 

'' Archdeacon Richard , Priest of the Church 

of England. Very well satisfied with this hotel and 
charges." 

After the word " hotel," some less assuming 
churchman had inserted the line, " And with him- 
self; " while another party, apparently in a burst of 
indignation, had appended to the end of this speci- 
men of High Church chirography the more pithy 
than complimentary expression, " D d fool ! " 

I was greatly entertained by these unsophisticated 
confidences, which, like the rest, I give verbatim. 
They were probably written by some elderly female, 
10 



146 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

who had long ceased to place any hope in male pro- 
tectors. 

" My fellow-traveller and myself were exceed- 
ingly gratified for refreshing our exhausted energies 
by a comfortable breakfast at this hotel, after our 
fatiffuincj nio-ht's iourney from Padua. We are 
now in anxious expectation of the comet, which 
people say is to pass in the course of the day. I am 
anxious to see it, but I am not in the slightest degree 

afraid. Charlotte M. E. O ." 

Poor Carlotta ! The next comer had merci- 
lessly inscribed across her valiant profession of 
faith, — 

" The brain was indeed soft that wrote this." 
An annotation which most people would consider 
as unnecessary as it was cruel. 

In many of these albums are to be found lively 
mementoes of the wordy warfare which is inces- 
santly waged between our own country and Eng- 
land. At the end of a very long and ridiculous 
paragraph, full of bulls and penned by a wandering 
Irish " avocat^^ — as he signed himself, — who took 
this occasion to give the world a list of his vari- 
ous discomforts on the road, were these comments, 
in as many different hands. I offer them in extenso 
for the amusement of my readers : — 

" A miserable specimen of American English." 
" The gentleman is a great curiosity himself." 
" I know you are an American, or you would not 
be such a fool." 



HOTEL BOOKS AND THEIR DROLLERIES. 147 

" English fools are abroad as well, as evinced by 
our experience at Bologna, Hotel Brun." 

" Usual style of compliments interchanged be- 
tween these two enlightened nations. — L. K." 

" America I with all thy faults I love thee stilV^ 

" An impartial observer would say that the 
daughter was an improvement upon the mother." 

" Down with the snobbish Englishmen ! " 

Across all these was finally written by some 
lover of tranquillity, — 

" Yankee and Anglais. Peace. Be still. — J. 
Le Place." 

Upon the travellers' book at Bourneville, some 
American wag, for want of better material, had be- 
stowed these two conundrums, which, though ven- 
erable, are not bad : — 

" How does a hair-dresser die ? He curls up and 
dies." 

" How does a sculptor die ? He makes faces and 
busts." 

At Courmayeur I read, — 

" July 25, 1865. Rev. J. Bromley, Son and 
Daughter, Leamington." 

Under it a passing witling had reheved himself 
thus : — 

" As the ' Son and Daughter ' is part of the ad- 
dress, we presume this is the sign of a public house 
kept by the above gentleman." 

Lower down, some practical and unappreciative 
genius had subjoined, — 



1 



148 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

" Not true, vide June 15tli." 

This must have been done by the man that never 
joked ; perhaps a direct descendant of the Shep- 
herd of Sahsbury Plain. 

Still another entry occurs to me, with which I 
will close this list of facetious brevities. It was at 
the inn of Gressoney : — 

'' Don't go to the Sotel de la Poste at Varallo, 
unless you wish to shorten your life." 

This was probably the work of some real philan- 
thropist, of whose efforts I could well approve, since 
I spent two unwholesome days at that very estab- 
lishment, and can safely recommend any one to re- 
sort to it who desires to die early and often. 

There is one class of travellers that seem to ex- 
amine hotel records, not for the purpose of adding 
anything to them, but to abstract what is already 
there. They are autograph-hunters, and are often 
as unscrupulous as the devotees of old books, coins, 
postage-stamps, and other worn-out debris of the 
past. Nothing is safe from their rapacity, and many 
a man who would walk all round Monte Rosa to re- 
store a lost dime, will pounce upon an autograph by 
fair means or foul, and hold on to it with a tenacious 
grip that nothing can loosen. One often comes 
upon the traces of these pirates, and unsightly gaps 
here and there in the various albums remind him of 
the vacuum which exists in that part of the plunderer 
where there should have been a conscience. Th^ 
name of the unfortunate Lord Francis Douglas has 



HOTEL BOOKS AND THEIR DROLLERIES. 149 

been especially sought for of late, and at Zermatt 
the landlord of the hotel where he stopped has 
been obliged to lock up his book for fear of the mu- 
tilation it would suffer, if left unguarded. Not far 
from that village, in the valley of St. Nicholas, is a 
place called Randa. Here is an inn from which 
the Mischabelhorner, the highest peak in Switzer- 
land, is sometimes ascended. In June, 1865, that 
nobleman spent the night there, just before making 
this expedition, and wrote his name in the album. 
Shortly after the accident that made the writer so 
widely known, some recreant cut this out. A cross 
has been marked at each end of the empty chasm, 
and the following words appear over against it. 
I know not who wrote them, but they are well mer- 
rited : — 

" The name of Lord Francis Douglas, who was 
killed on the Matterhorn, has been stolen from the 
opposite page by some autograph-hunter. Stranger, 
I pray you pity the bad taste and the weak con- 
science, and wish better manners to the no doubt 
amiable thief." 

To this a note has been appended by a subsequent 
visitor : — 

" Tuft-hunter, who will frame it and hang it over 
his mantel-piece." 

If the perfidious robber has occasion to go again 
to Randa, it will be better for his peace of mind 
to " pass by on the other side." 



CHAPTER XL 

CHAMONIX. 

During the past year travellers in Switzerland 
labored under great disadvantages. Those who 
succeeded in seeing anything deserve to be cred- 
ited with many excellent qualities that their order 
often do not possess. In spite of then" immense 
number Nature did not seem to be at all propiti- 
ated. She was invariably in the worst of humors, 
and drenched the whole of her followers without 
much regard for their feelings and with the strictest 
impartiality. Jupiter Pluvius appeared to be the rul- 
ing power, and for the whole season had everything 
pretty much his own way. He is by no means a 
beneficent deity for tourists, though he demands more 
sacrifices in the shape of boots and umbrellas than 
any now going. Between the snow on the mountain- 
tops, the rain in the valleys, and the dense mists 
and clouds that, like wet blankets, smothered all 
the finest views, the travelling community had lit- 
tle reason to be satisfied with their condition. The 
best they were able to do was to run out between 
two showers and pick up what they could. This is 
not at all profitable, besides being very trying to 



CHAMONIX. 151 

one's temper. It does n't pay to go three thousand 
and odd miles, merely to shut one's self up m a large 
tavern with two hundred other people. Hotel life is 
the same everywhere, and one can dress in the latest 
style, and eat three meals a day, and smoke, and 
play billiards, and discuss the ladies, and the price 
of gold, and the Atlantic telegraph, and Mr. Pea- 
body, and the war, and Louis Napoleon, and every- 
body and everything else, in short, without crossing 
the ocean for that expressly. Hence people who 
journey to this country for the purpose of enjoying 
the scenery, and who really meet with nothing but 
water in various forms of aggravating development, 
and hear nothing but bad French and small talk, 
think their time and money thrown away. Thus 
arise ennui and general disgust, and numerous harsh 
remarks by no means complimentary to the weather. 
The only feature in the landscape that throve and 
prospered was the waterfalls. These were really 
superb, and the Giessbach, the Staubbach, the Miir- 
renbach, the Triimlenbach, the Reichenbach, and, in 
fact, the whole hach family, fairly outdid themselves. 
Their condition was however, in most cases, merely 
a vexation, and they could only be seen after a 
prolonged wade through the mud, followed by wet 
feet, a cold, rheumatism, or some other form of 
water-cure. Thus the majority of people staid at 
home and flattened their noses against the window- 
panes, while the various cataracts raged and surged, 
boiled and thundered, and tore themselves all to 



152 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

tatters, like the tragedians of a country stage, with- 
out any spectators. One day I ventured to the 
other end of the Lake of Brienz in a violent rain, to 
visit the falls of the Giessbach ; and I must say I 
was repaid. Nothing short of the great Niagara 
itself could be more sublime, than the rush of this 
impetuous and swollen torrent. From a height of 
over a thousand feet, it plunges in a succession of 
mad leaps from fifty to a hundred feet each into 
the wide water at its base. Its channel is nearly 
straight, so that its whole course can be seen, as it 
flows between the tall evergreens that hang over its 
banks. It is broad and deep, and every drop of its 
stream is lashed into the whitest foam. Here and 
there clouds of spray arise, and feathery jets are 
throAvn into the air fi*om behind hidden rocks. In 
the sunshine rainbow-crowned mists are to be seen, 
and the rays of the full moon at night are given back 
in a thousand glittering coruscations. It casts away 
its watery wealth of precious drops and lacy foam 
and opal bubbles, with a " wastefiil and ridiculous ex- 
cess," as if it were the largesse of a prince. Gath- 
ering its cloudy drapery about it, it leaps into the 
lake, with one faint melodious chant ere it dis- 
appears forever. It is a cascade that none can see 
without being impressed with the exuberant beauty 
with which the All-giver has endowed it. 

It is the custom of the proprietor of the hotel 
near this fall to illuminate it every evening at nine 
o'clock. The effect is wonderful in the extreme, 



CHAMONIX. 153 

though the idea would at first strike most people as 
too theatrical and gaudy. It is not so in reality. 
As we stand near the foot, the whole cataract is 
seen white and clear, like the ghost of a torrent, in 
strong contrast with the darkness of the night and 
the deep gloom of the firs that fringe it. Suddenly 
a rocket is sent oif as a signal, and the water is lit 
up with red and green and yellow lights. Under 
a projecting ledge, over which it falls in one broad 
sheet, is placed a Bengal-light of brilliant red, and 
the stream hangs in a floating veil of flame. This 
slowly changes to violet, and then to orange, and 
then to a dark, and again to a light green. At 
length it fades away. Now a ruddy glow is cast 
upon the fleecy mists, and they sparkle as they rise, 
like the smoke and fire from a burning building. 
Now the angry elan of the current is as deeply blue 
as that of the bay of Naples, and again its thous.and 
jets leap aloft like emeralds. For a time the delu- 
sion is complete, and the Giessbach is a cascade of 
parti-colored and radiant streamlets, almost too brill- 
iant to look upon. But like every earthly spec- 
tacle, its beauty soon dies away, and the cold reality 
comes back in all its force. Again the pure and 
ghostly waters impel themselves from crag to crag, 
untainted by the artifice of man, and forever as they 
flow, whether in the bright hues of the sunlight 
or the solitary blackness of night, they add their 
harmonious tones to the thousand voices of Nature. 
For many reasons the Giessbach is one of the 



154 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

most popular of all tlie Swiss sights. It is within 
an hour's sail from Iiiterlaken over a beautiful lake. 
There is an excellent hotel near the foot, the 
grounds around are laid out with great taste, bridges 
lead across here and there, and paths not too diffi- 
cult mount along its edge to the very summit, 
while in one spot a gallery ingeniously contrived 
passes under it, and one can safely and comfortably 
look through the whole volume of water. There 
never was a fall that could be more thoroughly ex- 
amined than this, and consequently there never was 
one that was better known or more admired. Years 
ago, as many will remember, we used to read of an- 
other cataract in our school-books, and " How does 
the water come down at Lodore ? " under the pat- 
ronage of Mr. Southey, used to quite overpower our 
young minds, as it went " dashing and flashing and 
splashing and crashing " through the pages of " The 
National Reader" in a voluminous torrent of adjec- 
tives, like the autlior's own poetry. I recollect to 
have greatly wondered what a gigantic Niagara it 
must be, that needed such a chute de moU to de- 
scribe it. And yet in spite of poetical fancy, w^hat 
is this fall to Giessbach ? I was noL a little disap- 
pointed when I visited it, and saw a weak, attenu- 
ated stream of a consumptive tendency, dropping 
languidly from one pebble to another, as if it would 
be glad to stop and sit down every moment. But 
nowadays few people go to Lodore, and no one 
takes the trouble to write about it. It dribbles 



CHAMONIX. 155 

away its existence into Derwent Water, and tinkles 
forth the praises of the man who did his best to im- 
mortahze it, as well as it can. It flits through the 
minds of us to whom its name used to be famihar, as 
a sort of dim dream, pleasantly suggesting that 
which once was, but can never be again. Such 
may be the fate of the Giessbach, but I doubt it. 

From Interlaken and its inflated cataracts to Cha- 
monix, its popular rival, was an aquatic, or, to say 
the least, an amphibious excursion. I reached the 
latter place over a pass called the Col de Balme. 
Ordinarily it is an affair of but nine hours, and the 
way is not at all arduous. Ladies often cross 
with comfort and ease. At the summit is an inn, 
7096 feet high, which is situated in Switzerland ; 
and just beyond it is another, 7095 feet high, which 
is in France. Since the acquisition of Savoy by 
Napoleon III., the boundary line of the two coun- 
tries has run between them. From each of these 
hotels is a magnificent view of the valley of Cha- 
monix, and the lofty range of snow-clad mountains 
which form the retinue of Mont Blanc. It is re- 
garded as quite the correct thing to pass the night 
at one of these two houses, and get up early enough 
in the morning to see the rising sun tip the dome 
of that giant of the Alps. It needs a certain force 
of character, to be sure, in order to accompHsh this, 
and most people have so little sympathy with sun- 
shine, that they would much rather allow its donor 
to take care of himself and have his own way, even 



156 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

in the Alps, than leave theD* beds at five o'clock to 
see him. However, I have known men, and even 
women, who were willing to sacrifice themselves so 
far, bnt few of them ever repeated the experiment, 
and nearly all afterwards expressed a decided pref- 
erence for sunsets. Landlords, for the most part, 
don't like these ghosts with blue noses who trouble 
their establishments in ways too numerous to men- 
tion, and generally discourage them in their eflPorts to 
catch the monarch as he comes forth. They don't 
care to have their bedclothes dragged over the mud 
and snow by their shivering guests ; and I call to mind 
the despair of mine host of the Righi, and also him 
of the Faulhorn, — 8500 feet above the sea-level, — 
who posted up the following notice, which I copied 
to the letter as a warning to my readers who may 
be going that way : " It is requested that those 
persons who take the blankets oif their beds in the 
morning, to the summit, will carefully fold them so 
that they may not get soiled. The blankets thus 
taken must be paid one franc each." 

Fortunately for the menage of the Boniface of the 
Hotel Suisse, the guests, when I spent the night 
there, were not much tempted to go out very early, 
for we were greeted with a ftirious snow-storm, 
which offered a striking contrast to the hot air and 
blue sky we had just left at JMartigny. At five 
o'clock in the morning an impetuous whirlwind was 
sweeping up from the valleys beneath, and dash- 
ing against the walls of our hotel with a violence 



CHAMONIX. 157 

that sliook every stone. We gathered in the salle d 
manger at breakfast with melancholy faces. There 
were three Americans, fonr Germans, an English- 
man, and a trio of French, including one lady. 
Everybody condoled with everybody else in French, 
more or less bad, according to his accomplishments 
m that tongue, and remained at the breakfast-table 
as long as he could. Most of us thought of at least 
two or three fatal accidents to lonely travellers on 
remote and rocky heights, and told them with gusto. 
When we had thus come nearly to the weeping 
point, a pack of cards, the united debris of several 
sets, was found by somebody, and part proceeded to 
use them, while the rest pitched coppers into a tum- 
bler. Madame sat by the fireside, for luckily we 
had wood enough to take the chill off, and amused 
herself with that last resort of the sex, when in 
trouble or vacuity, crochet-work. She knitted 
away, occasionally exclaiming '-'- Mon Dieu!^^ as a 
more vehement wave than usual burst against the 
walls, or with a petulant " Oh del / " as she looked 
into the mouth of the black gorge at the bottom of 
which the wet fuel hissed and sizzled. Once, for a 
few moments, the varying maelstrom was heaved 
up from below, and we could see to quite a distance 
across the peaks around us. The subjects of la belle 
France decided to leave at once, but a difficulty 
arose : Madame was troubled with a crinoline skirt, 
which is a hard thing to manage on a mule's back 
even in fair weather, and in a storm is hardly a 



158 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

graceful, or even practicable garment. Would she 
consent to sacrifice it for the good of the whole and 
reduce herself to her original elements like the Ve- 
nus of Milo? " J.A, quelle liorreur ! " said she, and 
refused with a shudder. But how could one go down 
to Chamonix in the face of a tornado under full 
sail ? The wind has no respect even for a Vestal 
Virgin's scanty habiliments, and Neptune himself, 
with all his " Quos ego'B^'' could n't prevent his sub- 
jects from playing boisterous pranks with even Dido's 
robes. What would Auster or Boreas care for a 
modern Frangaise on a mountain-top ? Surely at 
the end of the first ten rods there 'd be a wreck 
more complete than that of the Royal George. 
But Madame was proof against all the French bab- 
ble, shrugs, and expostulations of her friends, and 
with some difficulty was hoisted upon her saddle. 
The cavalcade turned the corner of the hotel, came 
full into the face of the blast, and proceeded about 
fifty feet. But nothing mortal could stand it far- 
ther. She wavered a moment between heaven and 
earth, seemed about to soar aloft like an irrepressi- 
ble balloon, then came down again and fled before 
the hurricane, like the Austrians before the needle- 
gun at Sadowa. She put into the inn with more 
experience, and, let us hope, with more wisdom, 
than when she left it, and sat down before the fire, 
a disheveled remnant of what was once a woman. 
" Varium et mutabile f equina " is often true, but the 
chancre seldom comes all at once. 



CEAMONIX. 1,59 

In the course of a few hours all became ennuye» 
of euchre and liases of tossing coppers into a tum- 
bler, though we had dignified the latter game with 
the ancient and classic name of " cottabus.^'* We 
began to notice occasional lulls in the storm, and 
once in a while could catch a glimpse of the valley 
of Chamonix in the distance. This was quite aggra- 
vating, as Nature appeared to be smiling there, and 
moreover we had had an excellent breakfast, and 
were disposed to walk. At length the snow was 
whirled aloft, and the majestic panorama of Mont 
Blanc and his satellites unfolded itself. Far away, 
for a score of miles, they stretched their snowy 
pyramids, till they were lost in the blue sky beyond. 
They seemed, as it were, to mark the way to 
heaven. Their spotless drapery hung in massive 
folds down their sides ; the clouds, like fair hair, 
were blown by the breeze, yet lingered around 
their pure foreheads ; giant glaciers clustered about 
them, or in broad trains brightened their skirts to 
the very valleys ; dark and green forests of sombre 
pines adorned them, and in striking contrast height- 
ened the sublimity of their aspect. But it was only 
for a few moments that we were intoxicated by a 
scene so grand. The rain began to fall, and gath- 
ering vapors hid everything from the view. Yet 
after this we could stay no longer. We were irre- 
sistibly drawn on towards the glorious land that 
awaited us, and impatient to proceed in spite of 
wind and rain. The path was steep and muddy. 



160 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

It was covered ^vith loose stones that made our 
progress very uncomfortable. At times we took a 
short cut from zig to zag, making a glissade over the 
gi-een sward with the aid of our alpenstocks. The 
sod was slippery and saturated with water, so that 
our dignity often came to grief. In fact one canH 
sit down decorously on the damp turf of a steep 
hill-side. It is quite impossible. An alpenstock 
is of great assistance in mitigating one's subsidence 
on such occasions, and yet that useful article is often 
of little account. To be sure it is merely a mount- 
ain staff, with an iron spike ; still one looks impos- 
ing — nay, almost royal — striding up Mont Blanc 
with it in his hand. But when it sticks in the deep 
sward, and the bearer can't pull it out, and tumbles 
over it, he looks like majesty in its cups and fallen 
from the throne, in spite of its sceptre. We feel, as 
we pick ourselves up, the striking contrast between 
Philip drunk and Philip sober. 

The vale of Chamonix is Avide and verdant, and, 
through its whole length of fifteen miles, forms a 
beautiful accompaniment to the colossal masses of 
snow and rocks that overhang it. Its most promi- 
nent features, next to these, are the glaciers, which 
perpetually stride down from above through the for- 
ests. These broad ice-torrents proudly swell over 
the precipices of Mont Blanc, and push forward into 
the very corn-fields. The largest of them is the 
Mer de Grlace, from whose base, through a cavern 
of the ice, issues forth the Arveiron. This roman- 



CHAMONIX. 161 

tic name, immortalized by Coleridge, wliose poetical 
genius has crowned even Mont Blanc with an addi- 
tional aurora of beauty tliat the sovereign of the 
Alps need not feel ashamed to wear, will suggest to 
many of your readers charms which it does not 
possess for those who have seen it. It is not sky- 
blue, nor hmpid ; nor does it flow over moss-covered 
rocks ; nor do variously speckled trout go darting 
here and there to ao-o-ravate the angler. It is a 
boisterous and unruly stream, of no value to any one. 
At times it seems possessed by the very demon of 
destruction, and overflowing its banks bears tons 
and tons of rocks and sand in every direction over 
the fertile fields. Nothing will live in its waters, 
and these are — shall I say it ? — of the color of 
soapsuds that have been used at least once. It is, 
in short, merely another illustration of the fact that 
poetical rivers which meander in graceful couplets 
through broad meadows of margin are quite differ- 
ent from the reahty. If we lived on the banks of 
" Alph, the sacred river," or cultivated a farm near 
'' Siloa's brook," or saw a little more of the pictur- 
esque and placid stream that flows through Mr. 
Cole's " Dream of Life," w^e should probably ap- 
preciate the truth of this better than we do now. 

The Mer de Glace^ like other glaciers, has within 
a few years retreated at least a hundred feet, in con- 
sequence, probably, of the intense and protracted 
heat of several summers ago. This is the case with 
nearly all I have visited this season, including those 
11 



162 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

of the Rhone, Rosenlaui, the two at Grindelwald, 
the Unter- and Vorder-Aar.) and many others. The 
glaciers at Zermatt, on the contrary, have advanced, 
and the paths leading through the village pastures 
run up to the very base of the wall of ice which 
abruptly terminates them. They all push before 
them a little hill of small rocks which have been 
detached from the mountains above, and brought 
down in the lapse of time to their present position. 
These form what is called the moraine of the o-la- 
cier, and are an interesting proof that even the Alps 
are slowly crumbling away, and losing daily a por- 
tion of their enormous height and size. This is very 
gradual, and probably few of this generation will 
live to see Switzerland a perfect plain, yet the 
causes that tend to this result are ever at work, and 
it must come. Some months since, I was upon the 
top of a spur of the Matterhorn, called the Hornli. 
It is nine thousand feet high, and close to the side 
of this giant mountain. From its base to its summit, 
the whole expanse of that peak of terror could be 
taken in at one glance. Yet even here the frost 
was at work, and from time to time spHntered off 
pieces of the solid mass, which fell upon the glacier 
that flowed downward from its base. And it was 
the same with the other summits that gradually 
retire from the Matterhorn in a sort of amphi- 
theatre. From the foot of each the glacier slowly 
drew towards its central moraine the thousands of 
laro;er or smaller blocks that had fallen from their 



CHAMONIX. 163 

sides. Few travellers have the opportunity of 
watching this action of the glaciers, which is ex- 
tremely interesting, both from scientific and other 
points of view. The moraine of the Mer de Glace 
has, in the course of years, attained to enormous 
size, and proved very destructive to everything in 
its way. 

I found Chamonix much improved since my last 
visit, yet with many of its old characteristics. 
Most of the houses have been burnt to the ground, 
and it has been rebuilt and annexed to France with- 
in ten years, any one of which events would have 
made a palpable revolution in most towns. Napo- 
leon visited this new corner of his empire in 1861, 
and since that time there has been an evident 
development of imperial ideas. A broad avenue 
has been constructed through the centre of the vil- 
lage, which is of course called " V Avenue de FUm- 
pereury The path leading to Montanvert and the 
Mer de Glace was greatly improved, that Napoleon 
and Eugenie might visit it with as few stumbling- 
blocks as possible, and is now wide and of easy 
ascent. A grand new Hotel Imperial has soared 
aloft, with the French tricolor floating fr'om the top- 
most cupola. There is a Messagerie Imperiale occu- 
pying a room about fifteen feet square ; a Pont de 
Solferino twenty feet long ; a superb gendarme in 
cocked hat and gorgeous uniform, who strides in 
solemn procession along the grand avenue at regu- 
lar mtervals, and is several minutes passing a given 



164 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

point, and many other imperial and magnificent 
things calculated to impress upon the mind the 
splendor of the French empire, and make the place 
generally more worthy to associate with Mont Blanc 
and his stately courtiers. Nevertheless the old vil- 
lage of dirty, black, and crowded houses still bubbles 
up here and there, and the rags can once in a while 
be seen under the new coat, though, as a whole, the 
place is much more respectable than before. When 
Victor Emanuel parted with Chamonix he did not 
give up all Mont Blanc with it. Both he and Na- 
poleon now hold it in equal shares, and the bound- 
ary line of the two countries runs through its cen- 
tre. The same is true of Monte Rosa, the next 
highest peak, except that the northerly half thereof 
lies in Switzerland. The loftiest mountain, which 
is situated entirely in the latter, is the Mischabel- 
horner, one of whose peaks attains an elevation of 
14,032 feet. 



CHAPTER XII. 

AUTUMN IN PIEDMONT. 

With tlie shortening days and lengthening even- 
ings, the aspect of Piedmont gradually changes. 
The rich and luxuriant greenness of summer is 
already largely supplanted by the tawny, mellow 
tint that speaks of ripeness, decay, and their quick 
attendant, death. In Italy the dwindling months, 
the embers of the dying year, are not accompanied 
by the many-hued drapery of an American fall. 
Autumn no longer lays her fiery finger on the 
leaves. The livery of the dying dolphin, the gath- 
ering splendors of the setting sun, are not reflected 
in myriad tones from every tree and grove and 
thicket. The country wears the complexion of her 
own peasantry, and the various shades of brown 
that the sky has stamped upon their cheeks, are 
already apparent on the whole length and breadth 
of the landscape. They are now gathering m their 
abundant harvest, and the vintage is already waning 
towards its end. The Indian corn, from which they 
manufacture their eternal polenta^ is giving up its 
last fruits. At this season it does not by any means 
resemble the same crop in our land. The econom- 



166 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

ical rustics have long since stripped every leaf from 
its stalk for their cattle, and left only a small forest 
of white sticks, each bearing three or four ears. 
Among these goes a woman with a basket strapped 
upon her back. She is dirty and ragged, barefooted 
and barelegged, yet the red kerchief on her head 
gives her a picturesque air, as she moves to and fro. 
The basket is wide and deep, growing broader at 
the top. She takes each stalk with her left hand, 
wrenches oflP the ears with her right, and throws 
them over her shoulder. When she can bear no 
more, she trudges away with the burden to her 
cottage. There it is emptied upon the floor, and her 
children gather round to administer upon the re- 
sults of her labors. Every husk is drawn back 
from its ear and tied to a long string. When this 
is full, it is stretched from window to window over 
the whole front of the house. And there the bright 
orange and yellow rows remain for weeks drying in 
the sun. It is thus that the peasantry gather in 
their corn harvest. Like everything else they do, 
it is unique and peculiar. Being done in the broad 
light of day, with an old world simplicity that has 
nothing to conceal, men look upon it as they pass, 
and bear with them to remote lands new and stir- 
ring impressions that time will not eiface. 

At this period, when the kindly fruits of the 
earth are broadly scattered over this favored land, 
the whole force of the country is in the fields. They 
teem with the crops around them, and from amidst 



AUTUMN IN PIEDMONT. 167 

former solitudes appear to spring suddenly forth, like 
the animated life that at one stride peopled the new- 
born world. This is a peculiarity of these Italian 
valleys. The cultivated parts are in general far from 
the houses of those who till them. In the spring 
and fall these go forth to labor, either sowing or 
reaping, and return at night to the dark and dirty 
hovels under the walls of their church, round which 
they cluster. They still cling to the old traditions 
and stand fast by their ancient ways. The church 
is yet their ark of safety, and they draw near it 
with pious and simple confidence ; kneeling with 
pregnant hope at its altars, they listen to its chimes 
with a cheerful uplifting of soul, and shudder with a 
long-inherited horror at the fate of those who are 
not within its protective walls. In the paleness of 
early morning they consecrate the laborious hours 
of the loner dav to the Madonna ; with the blessed 
water they crucify Christ anew in their memories, 
upon their foreheads, and their hearts ; with deep 
emotion they listen to the solemn and exalted words 
w^hich ages have transmitted to them from pope to 
pope and priest to priest ; excited by the music, 
soothed by the incense, awed by the bodily pres- 
ence of the incarnate God, hallowed by the bene- 
diction of their spiritual guide, they leave the por- 
tals within which so large a part of life, both men- 
tal and bodily, is spent, and till they return to them 
again their existence is a dreary and joyless blank. 
Is it strange that their church is dear to them ; that 



168 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

having nought else, they ding to it with undying 
and unstinted affection ; that having no pleasures in 
this world, and looking to it as the only means of 
reaching the happiness of the next, they are willing, 
aye eager, to sacrifice body and soul for it ; that 
they look upon its white walls and heaven-directed 
spire as the symbols of the spotless perfections of 
tlie maid-mother, who is ever ready to pardon and 
anxious to embrace ; that they regard them from a 
distance with rejoicing, and ever gladly return to sit 
under their shadow with great delight? To the 
Anglo-Saxon peasant the ultimate be-all and end-all 
of his earthly existence is his home. To the Italian 
this word has no meaning, and the place it should 
occupy is wholly absorbed by the church. Hence 
spring up many serious and many social Avoes which 
it were idle here to attempt to enumerate ; and 
hence it happens that this goodly land flowing with 
milk and honey yields up its life-blood to evils 
worse than the plagues of Egypt. 

I have lately walked through several of these 
valleys, and nothing can be more attractive or en- 
during than the impressions they have left upon my 
mind. Their sounds were fascinating to the ear, 
their sights charming to the eye. They offered an 
uncloying exposition, a long panorama, of that joy- 
ous, free, untrammeled rural life, whose external 
features the denizen of the city can never witness 
unimpressed ; which always excite for the moment 
a feeling of envy and an ucontrollable longing to 



AUTUMN IN PIEDMONT. 169 

share in them. This love of the country is the nat- 
ural tendency of the sympathies of man. It is an 
instinct which is ever drawing ns on towards a 
future befitting our ultimate end, when the sordid 
and clogging corruptions of the social world are all 
to disappear. It is the dictation of man's better 
part wdiicli the sin that ruined Eden left untainted ; 
the response, inaudible, peidiaps, but still coming 
from the depths of his heart, to the low whispering 
voice of Nature, and " mickle is the powerful grace 
that lies " in its silent but earnest promptings. 
Kinglake has said with impressive truth, " The more 
man's affections are pure and holy, the more they 
seem to blend with the outward and visible world." 

The Pariah, in the " Indian Cottage," when 
asked — 

" In what part of India is your pagoda ? " replies : 

" Everywhere ; my pagoda is Nature ; I adore 
her Author at the rising of the sun, and bless Him 
at the decline of day. In Nature herself, if we 
contemplate her with a simple heart, we shall there 
behold God in his power, his intelligence, his 
bounty." 

Said the soldier, in " Xe Lepreux de la Cite 
cVAoste,'" — 

" When trouble weighs heavily upon me, and I 
no longer find in the hearts of men that which my 
own desires, the aspect of Nature and inanimate 
things consoles me ; I turn with affection to the 
rocks and trees, and it seems to me that all created 
beings are friends which God has given me." 



170 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

It is also true that the more closely one draws to 
" the outward and visible world," the more con- 
scious he becomes of great capacities, grandeur of 
soul, and impulses never felt in the crowded and 
jarring cares of city life. A truly great mind is 
never less alone than when alone. As Guizot re- 
marks, when speaking of his morning walks through 
the deserted fields of Hyde Park, '' In complete 
solitude and in presence of Nature we forget isola- 
tion." Her creative power peoples the brain with 
" thick-coming fancies," that oft expel one's baser 
part, and in this fi^esh and purer sphere he for a 
few delio-htful minutes lives and moves and has his 
being. Like Wolsey, he "feels his heart new 
opened." In this clearer atmosphere it expands 
and fills out the measure of its existence. Nature is 
the Prospero of this strange, mysterious island, and 
the thronging shapes and beckoning shadows, the 
" sounds and sweet airs that give delight and hurt 
not," are the manifestations of her influence. The 
broader the intellect, the more powerful is she to 
heal, to strengthen, and to elevate. To her the 
greatest spirits resort with a steadfast and lusty joy, 
and from her presence they come forth ennobled 
and invigorated. Said the Duke of Wellington, 
when old age had came upon him, in his terse and 
laconic style, " I need the country." How magical 
were the effects of Nature upon Sir Walter Scott. 
He observed with emphasis to Irving, — "If I did 
not see my native hills once a year, I should die ! " 



AUTUMN IN PIEDMONT. 171 

How greatly has liumanity benefited by this, in 
the increased vigor of his mighty intellect, and its 
moral elevation. It was a noble means to a o-lori- 
ous end/ He, as much as any, mounted " through 
Nature up to Nature's God." When, in the still- 
ness of his last moments, so tranquil that even the 
ripples of the softly-weeping Tweed, — the friend of 
his youth, the companion of his leisure hours, and 
sung in song and praised in heroic lay till he had 
made it the friend and companion of the world, — 
tendered their gentle lamentations through the open 
windows, he lay close to the gates of death and 
they knew not if his heart still beat, or no, then, 
when his last words ruffled the darkness of mourn- 
ing hearts and from beyond the grave, as it were, 
came his message, " I feel as if I were myself 
again," — then they knew that he had passed 
beyond, and in the courts of the all-bestowing and 
all-forgiving Father of Nature had perfected the 
matured richness of his well-spent life, and attained 
the ftill end and height of the aspirations he had 
derived from Nature's teachings below. 

When remarking above that the Italian peasant 
had no home, I did not mean that he had no dwelling. 
He has a dwelling, and he styles it la easa. Here 
he exists, when the darkness compels him to retire 
to it, or the weather is so bad that it is more un- 
comfortable to remain out-of-doors than in, and to 
have this effect it must be very bad indeed. In 
truth, one often sees the rustics laboring in their 



172 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

fields with sacks — I mean the coarse bags in which 
corn and meal are carried — thrown over their 
heads to protect them from the pitiless storm, 
which would drive any other people under the 
slielter of their own roofs. La casa is black and 
dingy in its interior, as the condensed essence of 
midnight. The windows, if any there be, are foul 
with dirt, the webs of spiders, and the corpses of the 
flies whose life-blood these have sucked out. The 
wooden beams of the ceihng are dark with smoke, 
and coated with the lamp-black that for ages has 
risen from the thick tallow candles and pine cones 
the people burn. The door is ever open to let in, 
not the refreshing air of heaven, but intrusive pigs 
and hens, who naturally feel that they have far 
more right to this sanctuary of domestic happiness, 
than those who tacitly occupy it. Goats hop in 
and out, leaving behind them long trails of fearftil 
odors, that ftirrow deeply the nasal membrane of 
those in whom it has not been blunted by habit. 
Dogs loiter to and fro, or lie down and dream, 
till with a yelp and a jump they hurry out to 
worry the legs of some passing stranger. They 
are laden with " F sharps " and other forms of ani- 
malculiii, nimbly skipping on the slightest pretext, 
and prompt to evade the vindictive touch of ex- 
asperated man. The beds are such as few would 
care to recline upon. They are populous with 
every insect that " crawls, walks, skims, hops, 
jumps, or creeps, or flies." The bedding is yellow, 



AUTUMN IN PIEDMONT. 173 

or ratlier brown, with dirt and age. It is washed 
only once in six months, and that merely from some 
vestige of a tradition that their fathers nsed to 
practice the custom before them, and not from any 
feeling of necessity or decency. Hence the process 
has degenerated into a mere formality, and the 
clothing often returns from the bath with all its 
imperfections on its head. Their barbarous and 
clumsy cooking is done with the rudest and most 
uncleanly dishes, which are often used for other 
processes, the details of wdiich would shock the feel- 
ings of every person that heard them. The people 
are dressed in the roughest and most soiled gar- 
ments of worsted and cotton. They put them on, 
and seldom or never take them ofP, till they fall 
away in rags. Thus they live, thus they die. 
Here they experience what M. About so wittily, 
but in this case so truthfully, calls " les joies aus- 
teres de la famille.'''' Father, mother, and children, 
all eating, drinking, and sleeping in the same filthy 
pen, and breathing the same " foul and pestilent 
congregation of vapors." Is it wonderftil that their 
church, with its bright and cleanly walls, and all 
the adornments with which time, wealth, and relig- 
ion have decorated it, should appear to them a 
heaven on earth, and draw them towards it with an 
influence that nothing earthly can destroy ? 

Among the thousand charms of this country, I 
have been deeply impressed with the beauty and 
grandeur of the groves of chestnut-trees. These 



174 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

coA^er the gi'een slopes of every valley and line the 
edges of every highway. Fortunately, from a 
sense of the value of their fruit, the people do not 
prune and crop them into the form of flag-staffs, 
but allow them to retain unimpaired their abundant 
beauties. Other trees are treated in a \vay to 
disgust any American ; for the natives having no 
feeling of admiration for their shape and propor- 
tions, and regarding their shade as a deadly blight 
and loss to their fields, strip them of their branches 
and lacerate them into ugliness. The chestnut, 
however, resents such treatment, and refuses to 
bear, unless it can have ample room to send out its 
broad arms. When thus protected, it is not chary 
of its nuts, and to these villagers is almost what the 
date is to the Arab, or the bread-fruit to the South 
Sea Islander. It is extremely nutritious, and 
whether eaten raw^, or disguised by cooking in one 
of the many ways invented by those who live upon 
it, is very palatable. This year the harvest is im- 
mense : the trees have borne with a prolific wealth 
that is unusual even for them, and wherever I go 
I find the ground covered with burs and the 
contents thereof. The chestnut is well protected, 
and its enormous envelope looks like a vegetable 
hedgehog. This is often nearly as large as the fist, 
and bristles with points infinitely numerous, exas- 
peratingly sharp, and despairingly hard. The fruit 
is more than twice the size of our chestnut; and 
after penetrating its thick, brown, leathery coat, 



AUTUMN IN PIEDMONT. 175 

one finds a sort of shriveled skin, red and bitter, 
and looking like a counterfeit of the real hide. This 
must also be removed, if one wishes to enjoy the 
meat, and after all this trouble, with my fingers still 
tingling, I have not rarely found myself anticipated 
by a fat white worm, who had retired there, proba- 
bly, to lead the life of a hermit, and repent him of 
his gluttonous antecedents. 

Where examples are so abundant, it is superfluous 
to specify one in preference to another, but a few 
days ago I passed through a grove of chesnut-trees 
more imposing than anything of that nature which 
I have yet seen. It was on the way from Varallo 
to Orta, and for a long distance my road led through 
them. So vast, so ancient, so deeply scored by the 
envious share of time were they, and yet so green, 
so fiill of fi'uit, so running over with inexhaustible 
vitality. They stood widely separate, with a kind of 
imperial dignity, as if each were descended from a 
long line of illustrious ancestors, and were conscious 
of the blood of ages coursing through his veins, and 
yet the broad space between them was entirely 
shaded by their green leaves and luxuriant boughs. 
I could think of nothino; but those aucnist and 
princely chieftains that went forth of old to conquer 
Troy. There they rested, in the eternal immunity 
which their great deeds had secured to them. 
There was Nestor, and Ajax, and Agamemnon, and 
Ulysses ! Each one seemed to say, " Touch me 
not ; I am a king and dwell apart : over me the 



176 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

years liave no power." One old bole, rugged and 
shattered, sinking and decayed, yet still sending out 
green shoots and bravely struggling for the future, 
was the fitting emblem of Italy now, hovering be- 
tween life and death. I could no longer wonder 
that trees were worshipped in ancient times, and 
that the gods themselves were incorporated in forms 
so peerless and beautiful. These seemed the direct 
bequest of classic veneration, and under their arch- 
ing limbs and sequestering shade it was easy to call 
back the mysterious shapes that once frequented them. 
The very depths of their unrufHed calm carried the 
mind back into the past. The faint voices of ora- 
cles now dumb, stole from afar upon the listening 
ear ; while nymphs and satyrs peeped, misty and 
blinking, as if newly waked, from behind the aged 
trunks. Silence appeared to descend like the snow, 
and deepened with every moment. From time to 
time a dropping chestnut alighted upon the turf, 
and rolled away with the agility of an insect with a 
thousand feet, or the gentle rustle of a falling leaf 
showed that it too had fulfilled its mission and 
sought a grave with its fellows. After these came 
a greater stillness than before. The cyclamen was 
there in myriads — the village beauty, ruddier than 
the cherry, with hat thrown back and blushing in 
unaffected loveliness. And there was the violet, the 
meek-eyed, perpetual mourner, watcher at the bed of 
the dying day, the orphan of the woods, a tear ever 
dropping from her half-shut eyes. All these and 



AUTUMN IN PIEDMONT. 177 

more but seemed to kiss the robe of Harpocrates, as 
he swept slow and stately on. The retreating year 
sailed by with broad and tawny wings, " incumbent 
on the dusky air," and with him fled the thousand 
sorrows of the past. Grand is the antiquity of the 
woods, and pyramidal their quiet. Here centuries 
unnumbered ever minister at the altar of the Eter- 
nal, and a sweet smelling savor, " the smell of peace 
toward mankind," heaven-bestowed, mounts heaven- 
ward again. It rises with the breath of morning, 
and sweetens the toil of man at evening. There is 
melody in the song of earliest birds, and subduing 
harmony in the waving of the pine-tops, and music in 
the cadence of the waters, as they moan their moan 
on some far and lonely shore, or with nimble fingers 
draw strains from rocky harps that spring responsive 
to their touch, like Memnon's statue at the first rays 
of the rising sun. But deeper and fuller is the har- 
mony of silence, when the imagination strikes the 
numberless chords of the soul, when life, love, and 
passion are fascinated with her strains, and yielding 
to her gentle touch, the whole diapason of the mind 
resounds with harmony that earth never knows. 

12 



CHAPTER XIII. 

TRAVELLING ECCENTRICITIES. 

In spite of the oft-proved truth of Rosahnd's re- 
mark, " A traveller ! By my faith, you have great 
reason to be sad," tlie experience of every tour- 
ist at times assumes a bright and lively hue, and 
there are few who have not enjoyed many a hearty 
laugh over misfortunes and disasters, which at home 
would inevitably have thrown them into a rage suffi- 
cient to make their existence a chaos durino; at least 
the rest of the day. For the most part, those who 
journey, if they be wise, make a little allowance for 
the failings of humanity, especially for the conspicu- 
ous weaknesses of their intimate companions, and 
take on board a good stock of patience. Without 
this they are likely to find a superabundance of 
thorns and thistles, and are infinitelv better off in 
their own country, where they are not quite so 
much at the mercy of their own frailties. A few 
months ago I met with a book, which one of these 
imperfect pilgrims was tortured by his own temper 
into publishing. It is entitled " Cautions for the 
First Tour. On the Annoyances, Short-commgs, 
Indecencies, and Impositions incidental to Foreign 



TRAVELLING ECCENTRICITIES. 179 

Travel. Addressed to Husbands, Fathers, Broth- 
ers, and all Gentlemen going with Female Relatives 
on Continental Excursions. By Viator Verax, M. 
A., M. R. I." These words in the biggest of cap- 
itals fill the first page, and it is pretty obvious that 
the author intended to write, as Paddy said, a loud 
letter. In fact, his wrath boiled over to that degree 
that this extract alone is an excellent epitome of the 
whole book, and he could not even contain himself 
long enough to complete the title, without cramming 
into it as much fury and vengeance as one ordina- 
rily finds in an encyclopaedia. The pamphlet is 
nicely got up and contains sixty-one pages. Who 
Mr. " Viator Verax " is I do not know, but if he 
had styled himself Viator Mendax he would have 
p-iven a much better idea of the modicum of truth 
that flowed from his pen. It is a farrago of abuse, 
in the most violent language, of everything on the 
Continent which a traveller is likely to meet with, 
and is an admirable illustration of the way in which 
a weak and peevish mind can aggravate every little 
discomfort and distort each annoyance into an intol- 
erable evil. At one hotel he was extremely shocked 
at the glaring deficiencies in the matter of cham- 
ber furniture ; and declares that in his own room 
" there was actually no towel-horse, no gown-horse, 
no pegs for gowns, no hidet^ no foot-bath, no cham- 
ber-pail for slops, no night-commode, no wardrobe, 
no hot-water can, no soap, no cheval-glass, no shut- 
ters or Venetian blinds to exclude the early morn- 



180 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

iiig sunlight." I rather think if this particular 
gentleman were to find all these articles in his room, 
in addition to those which are usually placed there 
in Continental hotels, he would be puzzled where to 
force an entrance himself, and the chamber would 
resemble more the ware-room of a firm prone to 
furnish houses, than a sleeping apartment. This 
extract will give an idea of the writer's common 
sense. It is probably the source of the sympathetic 
outburst that follows, as he pathetically exclaims, 
" When I have seen young and lovely maidens em- 
barkincr at Dover and Folkestone, on their first 
trip to the Continent, my spirit has been stirred 
within me, while reflecting on the horrors my own 
eyes, nostrils, lungs, and stomach have encountered ; 
and it was distressing to think on what lay before 
them — en cTiemin faisanty To this let me add 
for the benefit of those of my readers who are not 
conversant with foreign tongues, that the three 
words of fear with Avhich he has barbed his direful 
intimations, are afi;er all quite innocent. If, reso- 
lutely overcoming our natural timidity, we take a 
dictionary in hand and coolly run our eyes over its 
columns to the proper place, we shall discover that 
the expression " en chemin faisant " is quite harm- 
less, and means simply " on the way," than which 
nothing could be more unpretending, or less cal- 
culated to excite terror even in the weakest mind. 
It is probable that Mr. " Verax " added these 
words, unnecessary as they appear to most people, 



TRAVELLING ECCENTRICITIES. 181 

for the same reason that he attached M. A. and M. 
R. I. to his name on the title-page, that they might 
cast a shadow of secrecy and dread, hke the awful 
veil of the Prophet of Khorassan, and give tenfold 
force to his stern and relentless judgments. 

I might give abundant extracts from this work, 
if they were likely to be of any use to my readers, 
but I will not impose upon their patience to that 
degree. I have quoted from its pages only to show 
the absurdities of a certain class of people. Such 
men are always an unmitigated torment to every 
one with whom they come in contact. Why they 
travel at all, we may well inquire. If one cannot 
leave his prejudices and delicate squeamishness at 
home, he should never quit his own country. He 
becomes a burden to himself and an aggravation to 
everybody else. He imagines every bug to be a 
centipede, and every fly a polypus. He believes all 
the ridiculous stories that any one has a mind to im- 
pose upon him, and puts himself into a fever over 
trifles that a more sensible man would lauMi at and 
cast aside as unworthy of his notice. In short, he 
fills his bed with nettles, and takes a forlorn pleasure 
in rolling over and over in them. 

Those travellers who really enjoy the most, are 
they of a cheerful temperament, and especially if 
they have a quick sense of the humorous. This is 
likely to become a source of infinite gratification, 
and it often happens that a great trouble is for the 
moment entirely swallowed up in a good laugh at 



182 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

the ludicrousness of the situation. Men of the 
temperament of Dickens, for example, make excel- 
lent travellers, and his " American Notes " and 
" Italian Sketches," are both full of the amusing 
evidences of his appreciative humor and the zest 
with which he enjoyed an unlucky contre-temps, or 
prolonged annoyance. Witness his account of his 
journey from Washington to Richmond, which to 
most people would have been merely unmitigated 
misery, or his ascent of Mount Vesuvius with " Mr. 
Pickle, of Portici " and " the forty." Byron often 
gives evidences of this same nature in his letters ; and 
his Italian experiences, in spite of some drawbacks 
arising from his morbid tone of mind and dislike of 
notoriety, not unfrequently afforded him the greatest 
entertainment, by reason of his keen sense of the 
ridiculous. I remember to have read, in one of his 
epistles to Tom Moore, a story that amused me ex- 
tremely. It is sucli a good illustration of this phase 
of his character that I will venture to repeat it, and 
the more willingly that it is one of those anecdotes 
which, like good wine, improve with age, and even 
my oldest readers may have forgotten it, they having 
perchance stored it away in some dusty, cobweb-cov- 
ered cell in their brains, where they keep their 
choicest things. Having thus flourished the cork- 
screw, I will now proceed to draw the cork. 

At each end of the vestibule of St. Peter's at 
Rome is an equestrian statue ; that on the right 
hand representing the Emperor Constantine, that 



TRAVELLING ECCENTRICITIES. 183 

on the left Charlemagne. An English tourist, me- 
andering about in a desultory way with Murray un- 
der his arm, stumbled upon these works, and finding 
himself unable to decide as to their identity, inquired 
which was St. Peter and which St. Paul. He 
thought he might safely presume thus far, taking it 
for granted that nothing less secular than an Apos- 
tle would ever be admitted within the walls of that 
cathedral. The party addressed, being willing to 
amuse himself and at the same time humor the ques- 
tioner, replied by pointing out one of them as St. 
Paul. But he got no further than that name, for 
the tourist suddenly bethinking himself and berating 
his own dullness, interrupted him with, " Why, sir, 
that is impossible, for I have understood that St. 
Paul was never able to mount a horse aftej' his ac- 
cident.''' 

I once told this anecdote to a travelling acquaint- 
ance from New England. He professed a taste for 
wit, and said he enjoyed a good story better than any- 
thing else. Feeling quite in the vein for that func- 
tion, I went on successfully to the close. I paused 
for the reward of my labors. It came, but not in 
the shape I had expected. " I know what accident 
he meant," replied my friend with an air of serious 
triumph, as if I had just propounded a religious con- 
nundrum ; " it was when St. Paul fell out of the 
window at Eutychus." What could I do but coa- 
lesce with such a brilliant climax, and compliment 
my companion on the depth of his biblical learning ? 



1S4: CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

Wliether the noble poet invented this story or 
not, I do not know. If he did, it certainly does 
great credit to his wit, besides bearing the stamp of 
truth. If he did not, it is an excellent example of 
a certain class of tourists Avho are very numerous at 
the present day, and far more so, I fear, than in 
Byron's time, in spite of the greater diffusion of 
knowledge. These are often encountered on the 
Continent, and would be exceedingly disagreeable 
til rough their ignorance and want of tact, did they 
not make comic almanacs of themselves by the ab- 
surdity of their blunders. Truth is not only 
stranger than fiction, but much more laughable 
than the capacity of most men's invention in the 
domain of the ludicrous. My own experience leads 
me to believe that the incident Byron relates really 
did happen. In fact I have not the slightest doubt 
of it. I have often met with such people in the 
course of my travels, and there were abundance of 
them in Rome during my stay. There is a large 
gallery of paintings in that city, called the Capito- 
line collection. Some of them are masterpieces, 
and well known among the best of their authors' 
works. One in particular attracts the attention of 
every visitor. It is of great size, and the figures 
are full of life and expression. The colors are also 
rich and varied. It is called " the Rape of Europa," 
and was painted by Paolo Veronese. From the 
shore of the Hellespont Jupiter, under the form of 
a milk-white bull, is about to bear his mistress to 



TRAVELLING ECCENTRICITIES. 185 

the opposite bank. The god has knelt gently down, 
and is partly reclining on the turf. Enropa has al- 
ready seated herself upon his back, and is looking 
around radiant with grace and loveliness. Her feet 
hang down to the ground, and her lover, turning 
his neck and regarding her with amorous fondness, 
is lickincr one of them with his tono-ue. On one oc- 
casion I visited this painting with several acquaint- 
ances, male and female. After passing through the 
whole gallery I asked one of the gentlemen which 
of them all he liked the best. His answer was, 
" The one where that woman is milking that cow ! " 
I must confess this reply took me aback, and there- 
after when I went to study very high art I did not 
ask that person to accompany me. 

At the church of San Pietro in Vincoli in Rome is 
a superb statue of Moses. It is the work of Michel 
Angelo, and into it the Dante of art has infused, 
with many an impetuous and characteristic stroke, 
the vio-or of his own soul. The Hebrew Lawmver 
is seated on a marble throne, and with one hand, in 
the intensity of his indignation at the folly of his 
people, he grasps with nervous clutch his long and 
flowino- beard. This reaches below his waist, and is 
carved with great delicacy and expression. It hangs 
partly in thick masses, partly in slender locks. One 
morning on entering the church, I met a prominent 
clergyman, officiating at that time at one of the 
Protestant chapels in Rome. I inquired if he had 
been to pay a visit to the great statue. '' What 



186 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

statue ? " was the reply. " That one of Moses, in 
the corner, by Michel Angelo." — " Is that Moses ? " 
he rejoined. " Yes ; who did you think it was ? " 
'' Well, I did n't know, but rather thought it was 
Neptune." — "Why did you suppose that ?" — "Why, 
I thought that his beard was made so long and ropy 
to give it the appearance of having been dragged 
through the water, and I could n't think of anybody 
but Neptune to whom that description would apply." 
If Michel Angelo and Moses were merely dead, and 
had not already become dust and ashes, I can easily 
imagine that this remark would have made them 
both writhe in their graves. 

I have noticed that some persons, generally well 
informed at home, seem to lose their self-possession 
and become strangely confused when abroad. 
Either fi'om forgetfulness, or some other potent 
reason, they often display a superb disregard for 
historic or other conventionalities, and appear to 
imagine that the truths they have learned at school 
in their younger days are of no particular value in 
foreign lands. Not many months since a lady, re- 
siding not very far from that centre of our mental 
system from which radiate so many bright and 
abundant beams for the enlightenment of the rest 
of our country, asked me at what season of the year 
the Doge wedded the Adriatic, and if she and her 
husband would see the ceremony if they were at 
Venice in the time of the Carnival ? I gladly in- 
formed her, that they would have to be very active 



TRAVELLING ECCENTRICITIES. 187 

indeed to reach tliat city in time to see the show of 
which she spoke, the sudden and unexpected arrival 
of Victor Emanuel, to say nothing of that of tlie 
first Napoleon, having materially interfered with 
the celebration. This little bit of eccentricity re- 
minded me of a remark made to me some years ago 
in Rome, by a lady whose delightful ignorance of 
everything whatever suggested to me a vessel start- 
ing on a voyage in ballast with the chance of picking 
up a cargo en route. To a question from me as to 
where she had been passing the day, she answered 
that she had been to visit the spot where " the 
decapitation of the head of St. Paul took place." 
This expression struck me not only as more intense 
than was necessary, but as being at variance with 
Webster and Doctor Johnson. Probably, however, 
she thought Rome a place where one could well be 
allowed to give full and forcible vent to her feelings, 
especially as a few moments after she debated upon 
the Catacombs, and said they were " splendid." 

On my way to Rome, I stopped at Terni for a 
couple of days. This toAvn is quaint, old, and dirty. 
The houses are dingy and the people squahd. The 
streets are as black as mud can make them, and 
not much wider than the passages through a good- 
sized brick-kiln. Altogether, the place gives one 
the impression of a large number of houses that 
have drifted into the same locality, perhaps as the 
result of a flood, and become immovably fixed. 
There is a hotel with a stupendous and over- 



188 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

powering name on the outside, and general misery 
and annoyance within. No one should ever stay 
in Terni any longer than is necessary to see its 
famous waterfall. This is about four miles from 
its centre, and well repays a visit. Byron — who 
by the way, in his progress towards Rome, did up 
in a poetical way every prominent and attractive 
object on the road, just as he accused Scott of 
starting from Edinburgh to London with the design 
of " doing " in verse all the gentlemen's country 
seats he met with — Byron speaks of Terni with 
great admiration, and in fact rather overpraises 
that cataract. But still it is worth a day's deten- 
tion, even when one is at the gates of Rome, and 
is certahily very beautiful. On my arrival I found 
one solitary stranger at the inn, and he was a 
Yankee. He was travelling with a small carpet- 
bag and a copy of Harper's " Guide Book." He 
spoke not a word of any language but his own, and 
could not ev(?n order bread and butter, except by 
signs. He had a happy faculty for murdering the 
simplest expressions, and could not call for a beef- 
steak, though this is nearly the same in every tongue 
in the world. His first salutation to me was pecul- 
iar, and might be called unique. " Much acquainted 
here in the city, stranger?" In spite of their 
oddity, these words bore a certain appearance of 
familiarity that reminded me of home. I informed 
him that my acquaintance in that elegant and re- 
fined metropolis was quite limited, and in fact I 



TRAVELLING ECCENTRICITIES. 189 

should not have stopped there at all, except to see 
the waterfall. " Wall, I did see something in the 
guide book about a fall," was the reply, "but I 
thought I wouldn't foot it out there." I asked 
him why he had remained so long, then, in such an 
uncomfortable and disagreeable place. " Wall, I 
saw a large dot against it on the map, and thought 
there might be suthin' worth looking at." It ap- 
peared that this unsophisticated countryman of 
mine, "this model of a man quite fresh from 
Nature's world, this true-born child of a free hem- 
isphere, verdant as the mountains of our country," 
— to use the language of Mr. Pogram, — had 
started from Florence to Rome with the deliberate 
design of stopping at every town that had a larger 
circle than the rest against its name on the map, 
and thus far had done so, and for no other 
reason than that. He had spent some days at 
Arezzo and other good-sized places, where there 
was nothing but a big dot to see, and had seen it. 
It was quite entertaining to watch his management 
with the waiter at the inn. Knowing perfectly 
well that the latter did not understand a word he 
was saying, he would nevertheless go to the head 
of the stairs and call very loudly, " Waiter ! I want 
you to clean them boots of mine just as quick as 
you can and bring 'em up to my room, for I want 
to put 'em on right off." The waiter would look 
up in a helpless sort of way, and Uncle Sam's rep- 
resentative finally comprehending the real state of 



190 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

the case, would thrust out one of his feet and tap it 
three or four times with his hand, each time ex- 
claiming, " Boots, boots, boots ! do you understand ? 
I want them boots." And so it went on to the 
intense aggravation of all parties except myself, 
whom it greatly amused. 

These instances are only a few among a multi- 
tude that have come under my notice, and are 
perpetually occurring. If one wishes to see crude 
human nature, let him travel, and he will be sure 
to meet with it under a thousand aspects. Few 
persons on their journeyings care to conceal their 
own peculiar temperaments. Many are unable to 
do so from their weakness and want of self-control. 
Many are too selfish ; some have not sufficient tact 
or judgment. The great majority feel that they 
are for a time free and independent, and can safely 
cut loose from the ordinary social restraints of home, 
even though by so doing they seriously vex and 
incommode others. There should be a certain 
philosophy of travelling, as of everything else ; a 
certain savoir faire^ arising not only from knowl- 
edge of the world, but from a sense of what is due 
to ourselves as well as those around us. Yet in 
spite of all discomforts that we encounter, there is 
great strength in a cheerfril frame of mind; and 
he is the wisest, and at the same time the most 
fortunate of travellers, who can enjoy to the foil 
the humorous elements of every disaster, and shake 
off every lighter annoyance with a hearty laugh. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

RAVENNA. 



In this quaint, fantastic, incongruous old town, a 
sort of ancient ark among cities, cast upon the 
shores of the present from the vast ocean of the 
past, one finds himself brought into closer connec- 
tion with antiquity than at almost any other place 
in Italy. It is now little frequented by strangers, 
thoucrli there are very few localities that offer a 
crreater variety of attraction, at least to those voy- 
agers who do not journey merely from a morbid 
desire to murder time. Historically, the name of 
Ravenna is deeply suggestive to every reader It 
was the capital of the Western Empire m those days 
when the brutal inundation of northern barbarism 
swept over Italy, and Huns and Vandals bore fire, 
famine, and slaughter up to the walls of Rome. 
Subsequently it became the seat of the Gothic and 
Longobardic kings, and the capital of the Greek 
Exarchs. Within its walls repose the remains of 
the children of Theodosius, and here is the superb 
mausoleum of the Empress Galla Placidia, mother 
of Valentinian III. Here are richly carved sar- 
cophagi still containing the faint, thin, mortal dust 



192 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

of ancient Caesars, the only ones of all Italy, from 
the first of that name to the last, who have been 
allowed to rest midistnrbed in their graves. Just 
without the walls is the sepulchre of Theodoiic, 
king of the Goths, a magnificent monument of the 
art of his day, and as well preserved as when his 
body was placed in it. Here the traveller finds 
churches hoary with antiquity, and still resplendent 
with the bright mosaics — madonnas and saints, 
martyrs and bishops, apostles and patriarchs — 
with which the piety of the builders covered their 
walls in the earliest ages of Christianity. Here are 
grand basilicas, part of them nearly fifteen centuries 
old, still preserving uninjured the elegantly carved 
marbles and lofty columns that adorned them, when 
some pope with a long train of archbishops conse- 
crated them to the services of religion. The ram- 
parts of Ravenna yet retain the marks of the 
breaches made in them by the fierce swarms from 
the northern hive that desolated the land in far dis- 
tant ages,' and crumbling brick-work and mounds 
of rubbish still show where Belisarius planted his 
engines in his famous siege and capture of the re- 
bellious city. 

To Ravenna came Dante, when banished from 
ungrateful Florence by intolerant faction. Here he 
died, and here his bones repose. " Qui nunquam 
quievit^ quiescit; tace^^^ might well be his epitaph. 
In the suburbs of Ravenna begins that vast and 
venerable forest of mighty pines, which for centuries 



RAVENNA. 193 

supplied the " great ammirals " of Rome and Venice 
with masts and spars ; that " Pineta," replete with 
classic and poetic interest, whose praises were sung 
by Dante and Boccaccio, Dry den and Byron. In 
its secluded glades and far reaching gloomy vistas, 
" the world- w^orn Dante " communed with his own 
genius in sacred silence, and from these haunts of 
Nature drew a sombre comfort for the wrongs, many 
and undeserved, that he was suffering at the hands 
of his race. And even now, as we linger along 
these lonely and verdant aisles, the image of the 
sad poet still seems to attend us. We behold him 
walking with meditative stride ; standing statue-like 
and silent ; or perchance sitting with dowaicast eyes, 
as if pressed to earth by the heavy burden of his 
sorrow. So when in Florence was he wont to sit on 
the " Sasso di Dante^^ and look upon the master- 
piece of Brunelleschi, fit symbol of his own genius, 
which was to go on conquering and to conquer, till, 
like that peerless dome, it w^as to tower aloft in its 
grandeur, and surpass the mightiness of emperors 
in its fame. In every thicket we see his furrowed 
face, — earnest in its rugged grief, and grimly con- 
fiding in the assured justice of future ages, — still 
vitalizing with its melancholy life those abodes of 
deathly stillness which he once frequented. 

Disconsolate poet, thou art ever with us, and to 
thy genius there is no earthly bourn. Thy woes 
unnumbered are our own. We, too, have been the 
scorn of man, and yet think it well to suffer mar- 

13 



194 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

tyrclom with thee. We, too, have felt " the oppress- 
or's wrong, the proud man's contumely," and from 
thee have absorbed that vital strength which in thee 
was proof against the wrath of earth. In thy genius 
is still that lusty vigor which ever waxed more val- 
iant in fight, and " turned to flight the armies of the 
aliens." Yea, " which through faith has subdued 
kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, 
and stopped the mouths of lions." We, too, have 
entered the gates of hell through thy long-suffering, 
and mounted by its steep gradations to that heaven 
where thy own soul now enjoys its boundless inher- 
itance. Thy people have become our people, and 
the creations of thy brain are the realities of our 
world. Ever vividly are with us " Farinata, lifting 
his haughty and tranquil brow fi'om his couch of 
everlasting fire, the lion-like repose of Sordello, and 
the light which shone from the celestial smile 
of Beatrice." Under the dumb shadow of these 
mighty pines, they pass before us in long procession, 
and we linger, till the mild eye of the evening star 
draws them away far beyond the sunset. And now, 
though the nights darken about them, these an- 
cient and trusty friends of thine, rough with abrad- 
ing years, true to their glorious lineage, still stand 
'' erect and tall, God-like erect." Proud, sturdy, 
unconciliating, tliey still press on into the future, as 
if inheritino; from thee that indomitable soul which 
bore thee on to undying fame. May it long be our 
lot to benefit by the austere lesson they teach. 



RAVENNA 195 

This has not been lost in our day ; from the hps of 
these woody counselors Byron drew many an inspi- 
ration, and in their presence even he, caviler and 
skeptic though he was, was drawn inevitably from 
earth to heaven, and meditated deeply on the great 
hereafter. 

In Ravenna Byron lived for more than two years, 
and here he wrote many of his most famous and 
ablest works. Under the walls of Ravenna in 1512 
was fought the fearful battle of that name which 
left 20,000 men dead on the field ; in which Leo 
X., then Cardinal de Medici, Ariosto, Chevaher 
Bayard, the Constable de Montmorency, and many 
other distinguished characters participated, and in 
which fell the heroic De Foix in a bloody combat, — 

" Where perished in his fame the hero-boy 
Who lived too long for men, but died too soon 
For human vanity." 

The spot where he perished is commemorated by 
a sculptured column that yet stands by the side of 
the way. It is covered with inscriptions, and sur- 
rounded by cypress-trees. It is well preserved, and 
the space around it is neatly and cleanly kept. 
Whatever may have been its condition when Byron 
wrote his well-known lines, it is now regarded with 
reverence, or at least appears to be so, and the eye 
is no lono;er offended with the " human filth " that 
he speaks of as " defiling " the column in his day. 

It will thus be seen how richly interesting is Ra- 
venna to the antiquarian and the poet, to the his- 



196 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

torian and tlie scholar. It is like a costly heir-loom, 
careftilly handed down from generation to genera- 
tion and from century to century, while each and 
every inheritor has done his utmost to adorn it with 
whatever could render it still more precious and 
significant to those who were to come after. And 
yet in spite of all these attractions, which ought, it 
would seem, to render it an object of the deepest 
interest to every voyager and a great centre of re- 
sort, hut few modern travellers pass within its mas- 
sive and rusty walls, and seldom do its solitary 
streets echo to the footfall of any but its own for- 
lorn, scanty, and antiquated population. To be 
sure, the scenery around it is unattractive to the 
ordinary tourist, and those who care solely for the 
beauties of Nature will not find much to interest 
them. It lies in the midst of a broad and un- 
bounded morass, extending, till it meets the horizon, 
in almost every direction. This is covered with a 
coarse tangle of worthless herbage and tall weeds, 
and intersected with ditches full of black mud. 
These are for months white with thousands upon 
thousands of the most spotless water-lilies ; and yet, 
beautiftil as they are, and suggestive of the graces 
of heaven springing from the grossness of earth, of 
life triumphant in death, of purity of soul soaring 
untainted above the dark corruption that would 
gladly draw it to its own unhalloAved influences, 
even they fail to hide the dreary and lugubrious 
monotony of a scene in which they are the only 



RAVENNA. 197 

gracious and enlivening feature. A few years ago, 
Ravenna was yet more inaccessible than it is now, 
and consequently, if possible, more isolated from 
the world. Then there was no raiboad, and those 
who visited it were drawn there, like prisoners on a 
hurdle to the place of execution, in slow, heavy, 
lumbering diligences, invariably instruments of tor- 
ture ; in winter movable racks, in summer gridirons 
of St. Lawrence ; creaking, groaning, disjointed, 
" on fire within ; *' ambulances on their way to pur- 
gatory, slow but fatally sure ; noisy, muddy, dirty ; 
drawn by pale horses with ribs like those of the 
phantom ship, and tied to the rack by knotted ropes, 
driven by a coarse and boorish hangman, who now 
searched out every raw and tender spot on their 
lean frames with stinging cracks, and then scorched 
the ears of his passengers^ with vindictive and pierc- 
ing blasts from his horn that spoke of horrors to 
come more dreadful than any in the past. But now 
all these are supplanted by the pleasing comforts of 
the railway, and Mephistopheles has driven his 
gaunt and scraggy team into the Pope's dominions, 
where he and they will be enjoyed and appreciated, 
and only there in this age. The cars from Bologna 
glide swiftly past the cenotaph of Gaston de Foix, 
the mausoleum of Theodoric, and the queer, old- 
fashioned boats with many-colored sails covered 
with suns, stars, and images of the Madonna, that 
come up the canal from the Adriatic ; while the 
whistle of the locomotive sounds shrill and loud 



198 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

over the city of tombs, startling the wild boar from 
his lair in the Pineta, and the gidls on the shore of 
the Adriatic. Thus strangely and prominently are 
the new and the old brought face to face in this 
land of antiquity. 

But I fear that the mission of Ravenna, like that 
of many other ancient cities of renown, is forever 
ended. The fresh young blood of the new world 
can now no longer be infused into the clogged and 
curdled veins of the old. It will no more vitalize 
the sluggish flow of antiquity. The dry bones yet 
rattle, and the dust of Caesars and Popes, exarchs 
and patriarchs, emperors and preetors, still hamper 
the current. There is no business, no energy, no 
ambition, and the life of its sparse population, if life 
it can be called, is merely a vegetable existence. 
They are born, grow old, and die, and this is the 
sum of their hfe. There is but one hotel in the 
place, and that has but scanty patronage. It is a 
poor specimen of an inn, and those who resort to 
Ravenna to enjoy its antiquities must consent to 
undergo many sacrifices. There have been so few 
of my countrymen within its walls that on my bill 
at the Spada cf Oro I was designated as " il Signore 
Americano ^^' par excellence. I was really somewhat 
annoyed at the vagrant curiosity with which the 
people regarded me and watched every motion, as 
if I belonged to some strange and hitherto undis- 
covered race, whose habits it was a matter of inter- 
est to study, like those of a mastodon or "histrionic 



RA VENNA. 199 

kraken." Lord Byron chose Ravenna for a resi- 
dence, because lie liked to be quiet and unharassed 
by " pestilent English ; a parcel of staring boobies, 
who go about gaping and wishing to be at once 
cheap and magnificent ; " for such was the light in 
which, as he informs us, he looked upon his admir- 
ing and officiously attentive countrymen. I don't 
doubt that the poet found wdiat he sought, for judg- 
ing of the past by the present, the city must in his 
day have been as quiet as the top of the Great Pyra- 
mid, and as undisturbed as the summit of Olympus. 
He remained here over two years, from 1819, and 
resided partly in a large house near the tomb of 
Dante, where he spent eight months, and partly at 
the Palazzo Guiccioli. He lived here more decently 
and with less scandal than at Venice. He liked its 
society, its retirement, its climate, and the long 
drives in the Pineta, which Avere so gratifying to 
one of his lonely and at times morose temperament. 
Over the entrance to his residence was placed, many 
years ago, a tablet commemorating the fact. This 
simple slab was replaced in 1860 by one larger and 
bearing a more pompous inscription. It is interest- 
ing as an illustration of that vanity wdiich leads un- 
known and weak-minded men to set their names 
before the world by the aid of those whom gen- 
ius has rendered illustrious. There are many in- 
stances of this kind to be found in Europe. The 
present marble block bears the following words in 
Italian : " Lord Byron, the splendor of the nine- 



200 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

teentli century and poet of our glories in the un- 
surpassable " Childe Harold," on the 10th of June, 
1819, chose this house for his residence because 
of its vicinity to the tomb of Dante Alighieri. He 
dwelt here eight months, unable to separate himself 
fi'om the immortal founder of Italian independence, 
and the beautiful and unique Pineta. G-iuseppe 
Zirardin from Paris, having been conducted to the 
envied seat of the Exarchs, rejoicing to touch the 
walls within which he first saw the light, and proud 
of the caresses lavished on him, when a boy, by the 
great friend of Italy and of liberty, lovingly placed 
here this memorial on the 20th of October, 1860." 
Of all which the object of the writer doubtless was 
to let the world know as far as possible that M. 
Giuseppe Zirardin, whose name is placed conspicu- 
ously between the two paragraphs into which the 
inscription is divided, was born in the house where 
Byron lived, had been patted on the head by the 
noble and famous poet, and had left the distin- 
guished position in Paris to which he had been ex- 
alted, and come all the way back to Ravenna to post 
these facts up in big gilt letters on the front of the 
edifice. 

There are yet quite a number of people in Italy 
who remember Lord Byron, several of whom I met 
at Ravenna. At Venice I saw an Englishman who 
was at school with him at Harrow ; and in the 
Armenian Convent near Venice, where Byron was 
in the habit of going to study the Armenian Ian- 



RAVENNA. 201 

guage, I liad some conversation with an aged monk 
who was there when the poet frequented it. He 
seems to have left an agreeable impression upon all 
Italians with whom he came in contact. They ad- 
mired both his beauty and his fascinating manners, 
and to judge from their language in regard to him 
now, no one could be more winning in his address, 
when he chose to be so. They all spoke of his eyes 
as possessing peculiar power and depth of expres- 
sion. But of all those with whom I have lately 
conversed in regard to him, none pleased me more 
than a friend of his, of whom he speaks in one of 
his letters printed in Moore's " Life " of the poet. 
" June 6, 1819, I stayed two days at Ferrara, and 
was much pleased with the Count Mosti, and the 
little the shortness of the time permitted me to see 
of his family. I went to his conversaziofie^ which is 
very far superior to anything of the kind at Venice, 

— the women almost all young, several pretty — 
and the men courteous and cleanly. The lady of 
the mansion, who is young and lately married, ap- 
peared very pretty by candle-light — I did not see 
her by day, — pleasing in her manners, and very 
lady-like, or thorough-bred, as we call it in England 

— a kind of thing which reminds one of a racer, an 
antelope, or an Italian greyhound. She seems very 
fond of her husband, who is amiable and accom- 
plished." There is more in Byron's letter to the 
same purport, but I have quoted enough to desig- 
nate the lady of whom I write. She is now living 



202 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

at Ferrara, and having a letter of introduction I 
called upon her, when in that town. I was received 
with great kindness and hospitality. She is a charm- 
ing person, and though now somewhat past three- 
score, still lives to show the truth of Byron's de- 
scription, as pleasing, lady like, and thorough-bred. 
She was married at the early age of sixteen, and 
was not yet seventeen when the poet saw her. 
She is extremely well preserved, and though so 
much in debt to years, could easily lay claim to a 
deduction of at least one decade, were it not for the 
poet's ungallant record. Somewhat jjetite in size, 
with bright eyes that seem to flash with the fire of 
intelligence, and a lively gayety of manner, her 
air is extremely attractive. The traces of former 
beauty are yet conspicuous, and in conversation are 
heightened hj a piquant Rud animated style tliat is 
very entertaining. She has been much in fashion- 
able society, both in and out of Italy, and is still 
fitted to adorn it, both from her own graces of per- 
son and that knowledp'e of the world, that thorough 
savoir faire^ which tact and long experience alone 
can give. 

The Count Mosti has been many years dead, but 
the Countess yet resides at the family chateau in 
elegance and comfort. She had much to say of 
Lord Byron, and remembered him with great clear- 
ness. He was twice at her receptions in 1819, 
having brought letters from Count Mengaldo of 
Venice. The impression he made upon her was 



RAVENNA. 203 

very strong, and she spoke especially of his fascinat- 
ing and meaning eyes, which, like Napoleon's, ap- 
peared to those upon whom they rested to convey a 
world of expression. His lips were ftill and some- 
what gross, much more so, she said, than his por- 
traits represent him. His nose was of classic form 
and finely outlined. His hair was a little curled 
and brushed far back from liis forehead. He was 
fastidious in his dress, which was in the height of 
the style of that day. His cravat was low and dis- 
played a white and beautiful neck, of which he 
seemed proud. He talked with fluency in excel- 
lent Italian, with that Venetian pronunciation which 
he praises so highly in Beppo. His voice was low 
and musical, and the tones sweet and soft. His 
words were spoken with a sort of languishing air 
that was very attractive, and especially so to women. 
The flow of thought was full and free, though he 
never spoke in a poetical vein, but appeared to pre- 
fer ordinary subjects. As to his lameness, he was 
extremely sensitive. When he sat, he covered the 
unfortunate limb with his well one ; and when he 
was obliged to rise from his chair for any purpose, 
he would go all round the room, though really at a 
very short distance from the point he wished to 
reach, in order to keep his defective leg always 
turned from those present. He was quite attentive 
to his hostess, and evidently felt a deep and perma- 
nent interest in her ; for though she never saw him 
again after he left Ferrara, yet he tendered to her 



204 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

many kind civilities, and the Countess sliowed me a 
copy of Moore's " I.alla Rookli " Avith liis autograph 
on the fly-leaf, which Byron afterwards sent her with 
a note expressing his regard. Among other matters 
of interest, she informed me that the cross of the 
Legion of Honor wdiich Byron took from the breast 
of a dead officer on the field of Waterloo, he after- 
wards gaye to Count Mengaldo, his finend above 
mentioned, to wdiom she Avas indebted for his ac- 
quaintance. The Count, when afterwards pre- 
sented at the Court of Louis XVIIL, ofPered it to 
that monarch, relating to him the circumstances 
through which it came into his hands. The King 
at once returned it with the complimentary remark 
that he was worthy to w^ear it. Count Mengaldo 
still retains the poet's gift. Upon my asking the 
Countess if she knew Byron's friend. La Guiccioli, 
with whom he passed so many happy years, she 
replied that she did, and I w^as amused at her true 
woman's answer to my inquiry as to her beauty and 
fascination and what she thouo-ht of them : " Oh cod 



eosi I 



; /" 



" Oh, so so." She informed me, which 
I presume most of my readers know, that the 
Countess Guiccioli is now living at Paris in advanced 
years, having just lost her second husband, the Ln- 
perial Senator and Marquis de Boissy, who was so 
wxll known for his aggravating w-it and exaggerated 
and amusing Anglophobia. The Guiccioli family 
still inhabit the old palace in which Byron dwelt. 
At my visit I found but few relics of the poet, 



RAVENNA. 205 

though it seemed still to bear the marks of his 
presence in its neatness, the comfort of its interior, 
the large size of its windows, which let in a flood of 
sunhght, its blinds and curtains, and the clean, 
well-painted front. It appeared Hke an English 
house, a grand substantial country mansion, the 
luxurious residence of " a prosperous gentleman," 
and more so than anything else I have yet seen in 
Italy. 

The tomb of Dante, the Mecca of so many de- 
voted pilgrims from distant lands, still continues to 
be frequented by all who resort to Ravenna, and by 
some as the only great attraction of the place. The 
union of Italy lately consummated in Venetia, of 
which Dante, prophet as well as poet, was the ardent 
advocate, has greatly increased the number of his 
devotees of late, and so has the discovery in the 
month of May, 1865, for the first time since his death, 
of the actual resting-place of his mortal part. His 
ashes were discovered, after a vigorous search, in a 
wall at one corner of the church of San Francesco, 
near which his monument, built by Cardinal Gon- 
zago, has heretofore existed. They were in a rough 
chest of wood in which they had been concealed by 
one Fra Antonio Santi at the time when his fanat- 
ical persecutors, unwilling that even his remains 
should rest in the grave, had ordered them to be 
burnt at the same place with his works. They 
were identified, not only by two inscri2:>tions on the 
inside of the box stating that they were the bones 



20 G CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

of the poet, — " Dantis ossa " — but from the fact 
that one foot and a few fingers which had been for- 
merly preserved were missing from those now found. 
These sacred rehcs, thus fortunately preserved by 
pious and thoughtful care from the profane desecra- 
tion of malignant spirits, were exposed to public 
view for one day in Ravenna, and then solemnly and 
with reverent tenderness placed in the tomb that 
had so long been prepared for them. It was an 
omen of good import. The bones of " the Poet- 
Sire of Italy," dissevered for ages, were finally re- 
united to await the great resurrection. The scat- 
tered fi-agments of the noble land for whose union he 
yearned and labored, prayed and wrote, have now 
within a few months from that consummation, been 
affain linked together. Were not the fortunes of 
the poet and his country indissolubly joined, and 
was it not the decree of Heaven that so long as a 
great injustice was unrepaired and a giant wrong 
unatoned for ; that so long as the consecrated ashes 
of the most deserving of her sons were denied the 
repose of which bigotry and wickedness had de- 
prived them, so long should the tranquil blessings 
of union be refused to the whole land ? As the 
magnificent and solemn ceremonial that attended 
the King of Italy on his entrance into Venice swept 
slow and stately by with almost supernatural splen- 
dor, I could not help thinking of Dante ; and as the 
weir known line, " Per me si va nella cittd dolente^^^ 
— " Through me they pass into the grieving city," 



RA VENNA. 207 

— came Into my mind, it struck me as oracular in 
its meaning, and capable of a significance deeper 
and far different from that which it now bears ; and 
that the poet, with that genius which is merely the 
mouth-piece of heavenly and exalted truth, had been 
inspired to write a noble prophecy which only ages 
should reveal ; and that it was largely through him, 
whose genius working in a thousand forms Avas to 
draw a divided nation into one common fate, that, 
as the crowning glory of all, a final entrance was to 
be made into that which has so long been emphat- 
ically " the grieving city." 



CHAPTER XV. 1 

NICE. 

Having remained in Italy for the space of six 
months during the past year, and seen much of its 
people and the working of its institutions, I desire 
to put on record and bring before my readers, with 
such impressiveness as I may, my opinion of its 
inhabitants and then' future prospects. When I 
entered their country, my hope in their behalf rose 
strong and buoyant, as was natural to one coming 
from a land where liberal opinions had waxed 
powerful and flourished in their integrity, till the 
seed sown on stony soil by the Pilgrims had 
brought forth a thousand-fold. The hope I then 
felt has now become a tenacious faith, and it is 
impossible to repress the conviction that another 
nation has been born, and already is moving on in 
the broad stream of prosperity. The truth that was 
yesterday a restless problem, has to-day grown a 

i The necessity of devoting a considerable portion of this book to the 
Great Exhibition, constrained me to omit most of the letters from Italy 
which formed a portion of my Eluropean correspondence. I have, how- 
ever, ventured to retain, though with apparent want of connection, that 
result of my southern travels which is embraced in the first two para- 
graphs of this chapter. 



NICE. 209 

belief burning to be uttered. Italy is no longer a 
mere crackling infinitude of discrepancies, a broken 
wreck laden with noble souls scattered over the waves 
of a tumultuous ocean, confused, aimless, entangled, 
struggling for an empty life, but a mighty whole, 
borne on by favoring breezes and already great 
in its coming strength. Italian unity is hard to 
realize. But a few years ago it was a diplomatic 
Will-o'-the-wisp, a theoretic possibility, fascinating, 
vague, wild, reasoned out in the bmins of philoso- 
phers and the cabinets of statesmen ; it was the 
prophetic longing of poets, relying upon the future 
Avith God-given trust, the despair of patriots, the 
derision of the world. At the present moment, 
however weak and inefficient it may thus far have 
appeared to some, it is an unchangeable fact. I have 
learned to confide in those truths which great poets 
have been inspired by Nature to utter for our learn- 
ing ; and I have noticed that those, from Dante to 
Byron, from Shelley to Mrs. Browning, who have 
dwelt longest in Italy, who have the most deeply 
and impartially studied her people and their capac- 
ities, have ever expressed themselves the most 
strongly in their favor. Dante, sad yet hopeful, 
from the Pisgah-height to which his own genius on 
untiring wings had borne him, saw the promised 
land of Italy with a clearness of vision that years 
did not abate, but rather strengthened; and the fire- 
words he uttered were flashing from the fever that 
consumed his soul, while he thought that he was not 
14 



210 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

in liis own life to enjoy that full fruition which he 
already realized in the eye of the mind. In our 
own day, or only a half a century ago, Byron 
mourned in the country of his adoption over glories 
long decayed, but was hopeful of new triumphs to 
come. Over her past he cast with abundant pro- 
fusion the affluence of his genius, and with the fervid 
sympathy of a true poet consecrated anew to our 
age those relics of her greatn 'ss which time has 
spared. More than this, in earnest language he 
expressed his confidence in the Italians of his day, 
and his trust in their future. " That man," he 
says, "must be willfiilly blind or ignorantly heed- 
less, who is not struck with the extraordinary ca- 
pacity of this people, or, if such a word be admissi- 
ble, their capahilities, — the facility of their acquisi- 
tions, the rapidity of their conceptions, the fire of 
their genius, their sense of beauty, — and amidst all 
the disadvantages of repeated revolutions, the deso- 
lation of battles, and the despair of ages, their still 
unquenched ' longing after immortality,* — the im- 
mortality of independence." 

These be brave w^ords, but they are warranted 
by what has been already done, and my own obser- 
vation teaches me to believe that they will be 
matched by brave deeds in the future. Roughly 
has Italy been scathed, and the iron of misfortune, 
tyranny, and divided counsels has been driven into 
her very vitals ; but the soil is rich, and the deeper 
the furrow the more plentiful w^ill be the harvest. 



NICE. 211 

In spite of a thousand distractions, the clash of con- 
flicting interests, the clangor of opposing voices, and 
the curdling poison of political intrigue, which even 
now seems to threaten her existence, let America 
beheve that Italy will act well her part, that she 
has chosen her course, that she will follow it, until 
she rises above the present difficulties, which are 
really as naught now that the great victory is 
gained, and that she deserves our affection, our 
sympathy, and such aid as one nation of freemen 
should and may well and honorably tender to 
another. 

At Nice, situated as it is on the confines of Italy, 
and so lately forming an attractive portion of it, 
there is naturally much feeling for the mother 
country still remaining. In spite of the glory of 
the imperial reign and the protection of " Ze grand 
monarque^'' the people have not yet by any means 
become thoroughly French. It will remain for 
another generation- to effect this, and identify im- 
mutably the interests of France and Savoy. And 
still the Emperor has done much for the spot in a 
short time, and le8 idees NapoUonienneB are per- 
vading it and cropping out in every direction, as 
at Chamonix and other towns in this part of his 
empire. One who had not been here for five years 
past, would hardly recognize the place. Since that 
date it has been almost entirely renovated, and 
is now the very Paris among watering-places. 
Long ranks of new houses have been erected, and 



212 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

broad and handsome streets extend towards every 
point of tlie compass. The residences are large, 
and in many instances magnificent. They are 
villas and palaces on wide and never-ending boule- 
vards. They are not thrast close up to the line of 
the street, but are approached by a goodly breadth 
of garden spot, where everything that will grow on 
any part of the earth's surface flourishes in the most 
profuse luxuriance. In this delicious climate, the 
Eden of the vegetable kingdom, the Paradise of the 
botanist, where " earth consummate lovely smiles,'' 
the eye roves unsated over every floral attraction. 
There the Mexican aloe makes itself a prolific 
home, and even in the dead of winter sends up 
its tall candelabrum of blossoms. Orange groves, 
bending under the weight of their fruit, ornament 
every garden, slope, and valley. The hills that 
shelter the town on every side are covered with 
olive and lemon trees. Palms, in long rows or 
stately clumps, no more overshadowed by the forty 
centuries of Egypt, — no longer like crested senti- 
nels guarding the ruins of Palmyra among the 
many-pillared, wind-driven sand palaces of the des- 
ert, — offer their picturesque forms wherever one 
turns. Now they are splashed by the foam of the 
loud-resounding sea, and the echo of the waves dies 
among their leaves ; now fashion and frivolity revel 
round their trunks, and, proud of their ancient 
lineage, they sigh over the levity of this trifling 
modern world. 



NICE. 213 

It is natural that a place so ftill of every sensual 
charm should every year wax more and more 
popular, as its varied delights become known. Its 
situation on a broad bay of the Mediterranean, 
which on either side in a graceful curve retires 
towards rocky and distant headlands ; its wide 
beach, with the waves ever rolling in and casting 
their surges upon the shore ; the elegant villas that 
bound the various promenades, and the magnificent 
hotels which tower above it ; the genial climate, 
where one hardly sees a rainy day, or feels a chill- 
ing blast for a month at a time, and where those 
woful winds, the scirocco and tramontana^ are alike 
unknown, all unite to give it an enviable reputation 
with both sick and Avell. Invalids are here in 
numbers, and many prolong their lives for years, 
who in their own lands would hold them by a 
short and feeble tenure. The temperature of Nice 
is the most equable in the world, and the atmos- 
phere combines, in a remarkable degree, the vital- 
izing energy of a more northerly air with the gentle 
warmth of a tropical winter. It is dry and bracing, 
and the sun's rays seem to penetrate the atmosphere 
through a more subtle medium, than in any other 
place I have ever visited. This is the only dis- 
comfort of the place, for at midday, though the heat 
is not intense, the sun is really burning to those 
who are exposed to its direct rays, and it is essen- 
tial both for health and comfort to carry some pro- 
tection for the head in the shape of a parasol or 



214 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

■Qmbrella. Of late years the resort of foreigners to 
Nice has been great, and many persons of wealth 
and position have built villas, where they come to 
spend the winter. The Russians come here in 
multitudes, and it has always been a favorite resi- 
dence with the family of their Emperor. Here the 
heir to the throne met his sad end last winter. 
Baron Adolphe de Rothschild resides here during 
the colder months, and many noblemen and wealthy 
gentlemen from England and France, from Ger- 
many and Italy, are always to be met with. It is a 
sort of universal exchange of nations, the Newport 
of the world, where the travelling community con- 
gregate from every quarter of the habitable globe. 
During the past season the number of Americans 
here has been extraordinary, and of the 12,000 
strangers who are said to have visited it, they have 
formed a good portion. As might have been ex- 
pected it has been very gay, and not only that, but 
Saratoga-ish and Babylonish. Our fair country- 
women have quite taken the lead in the fashionable 
riot, and carried everything before them. Such 
extravagant toilets, showy balls, and dinner parties 
have never been known here before, and it is said 
that New York has entirely supported Nice for the 
last three months. 

Many came here merely with the design of pass- 
ing a week or so on their way to Florence and 
Rome, but gradually drawn into the vortex of 
fashionable dissipation, remained during the whole 



NICE. 215 

winter. The maelstrom was by no means quieted 
by the arrival of our war vessels, the Colorado., 
Frolic^ Ticonderoga^ and Swatara^ which, either sep- 
arately or together, have visited the neighboring 
harbor of Villa Franca, and let loose swarms of 
blue envelopes with attractive contents, naval val- 
entines direct from home, to ravage the hearts of 
the fair sex. Ball followed ball, and entertainment 
capped entertainment aship and ashore, until the 
very spirit of revelry seemed to have broken loose. 
The officers of the Colorado made themselves well 
known for their liberal hospitality, and the courte- 
ous politeness with which they placed themselves 
and their frigate at the disposal of visitors from 
every land. From their profuse convivialities, one 
would infer that they had captured the El Dorado 
on their passage. Though their kindness was some- 
times abused, yet they have the satisfaction of 
knowing that it was appreciated at its true value, 
and enjoyed in a gentlemanly way by the more con- 
scientious amono^ their OTests. The " Coloradi " 
were well entertained on land, and I think the 
countrymen of Farragut and Davis had no reason 
to be dissatisfied with their reception by their fel- 
low-citizens and citoyennes whom they found here. 
They enjoyed themselves with a zest that only a 
long voyage can give, and experienced many " a 
little touch of Harry in the night," that will proba- 
bly live long in their memories, and the ginger 
whereof for many a day shall be " hot i' the mouth." 



216 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

The weekly paper of the place, bearmg the se- 
ductive title, La Bien-venue aux Etr angers^'' was by 
no means slow to extend the welcome which its 
name indicates. It fairly bubbled over with every 
form of hospitable verbosity, and each stranger of 
position drew after him a train of epithets as long 
and glittering as the Milky Way. Its editor, high 
in the ranks of man-millinery and fashionable gig- 
gery, evidently regarded the more imposing ad- 
jectives as so many orders with which he was at 
full liberty to decorate every visitor according to 
his merits or assumptions. He bestowed them with 
the same profusion as the Czar and the Sultan at 
the Great Exhibition, when the " stars in their 
courses " seemed to rain down upon the Parisians ; 
and Britannia, old, stiff, and seedy as she has be- 
come in these days, was constrained to rush forward 
with her shield and interpose it for the protection of 
her subjects. 

This editorial Jenkins Avas particularly attentive 
to the ladies, and whenever a fair Amtricaine ap- 
peared in a ravishing toilet, he took infinite pleas- 
ure in adorning it still farther with such poetical 
and odoriferous flowers of rhetoric as he could cull 
from his well-thumbed dictionary. Perchance my 
readers may be pleased to see a piece of this celes- 
tial modisterie, et le voila ! rising like Venus from the 
sea : — 

" A Nice bal encore et toujours. Le cercle Massena don- 
nait sa deuxieme grande soiree dansante le lundi 21 fevrier. 



NICE. 217 

Elle etait plus brlllante encore que la premiere. Les 
inemes noms arlstocratiques, qui brillent comme une constel- 
lation dans tous les bals d'hiver, figuraient sur la liste des in- 
vitees. Ma plume, ereintee comme un cheval de fiacre k trois 
francs I'heure, ne demande qu'k rentrer a I'ecurie. Je ne 
puis toutefois passer sous silence une toilette unique et divine, 
que portait Tune des plus charmantes danseuses ; robe en sole 
rose, avec une queue longue comme un poeme epique, garnie 
de Valenciennes, riche et lltteralement constellee de cristaux 
de roche, en festons, en larmes, en arabesques. C'etait I'au- 
rore se levant dans une cascade." 

As miglit be expected, this Vanity Fair of the 
fashionable ranks high in matrimonial strategy, and 
on a field day brigadier dowagers manoeuvre whole 
regiments of glittering platoons and hollow squares 
in light marching order, " in perfect phalanx to the 
Dorian mood of flutes and soft recorders." Game- 
some youths, hien gantes^ the jeunesse doree, the 
Apollo butterflies of Nice, look on applausive and 
show their mealy wings. There are plumes and 
epaulettes, flowers and diamonds, feathers and laces, 
and all the frisky frilligigs of captivating femininity 
in profusion. There is eye-blackening and face- 
whitening, powder of gold and powder of glass. 
There are high-heeled boots and slippers of satin, 
and still the glittering spectacle goes flashing on in 
bewitching variety. There are mammas with eli- 
gible daughters seeking an available title. There 
are younger brothers trying to restore exhausted 
fortunes, or acquire new ones by a lucky marriage. 
There are passe maidens still in Pandora's box cling- 



218 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

ing fast to Hope, who will surely never abandon 
them, and scornful old beaux, still waving the stand- 
ard and crying, " Come and take it." " Sanguine 
mothers take sweet counsel together, tender alliances 
are made and broken, hearts are trumps one moment 
and pass into nameless forgetfulness forevermore the 
next, and flirtations innumerable crackle, flare up, 
and vanish like heat licrhtninp;. The bachelors of 
Nice, knights of St. Nicholas, hardened and elderly 
sinners, rejoicing in their own degradation, and 
careless of Mrs. Grundy and the verdict of poster- 
ity and inflexible Minos, give a ball to spite the 
world, and all the spinster devotees of St. Cathe- 
rine rush in a body to heap foul scorn upon the 
shameless ones. The latter are right, and do well 
to assert their privileges. The world thinks the 
better of them for it. Mr. Sprott, the tinker, 
spoke the truth, — " Stick by your border, then 
you '11 be 'spected when you gets into trouble, and 
not be 'varsally 'espised." They have a good cause 
and the law on their side. It is better to be an au- 
tumn pear than not to pair at all. " Sinful man- 
kind, they were all struck for thee." Shakespeare 
was correct. " Earthlier happy is the rose distilled," 
than a prickly old maid forever in the bud, " her 
true perfection " totally eclipsed by the black clouds 
of adverse fate, or even as yet a myth, never mak- 
ing his appearance to warm, redden, and expand 
avec effusio7i. Delays are dangerous. The older 
the pie, the harder and more indigestible the crust 



NICE. 219 

and the less the heat. The pastrj which was ten- 
der at twenty, may be hard to assimilate at forty. 
A lark is very nice in a pie, a buzzard is n't ; and 
when the latter is opened, the birds don't begin to 
sing. The competition is fearful. Look at the 
scores of eligible and gushing maidens who wait for 
some Curtius to leap into the yawning gulf of their 
affections ! The longer they tarry, the wider the 
chasm. Soon shall come the fated thirty, Erebus, 
darkness, and a gulf without shore. 

Yet forget not the ancient proverb. 

" Hasten slowly," said the ancient Roman, and 
even the victorious African himself may yield. 
Rush on impetuously, conscious of an aching void, 
and see how it will turn out. Thus did Dido, Cleo- 
patra, Desdemona, Ophelia, Elizabeth, Corinne, and 
other unquenchable ones ; with what result the 
Muse of History, grimly smiling, records. There 
will be doubtless a final victory for the prudent, 
and the time may come when the longest waiter, 
cautiously advancing, shall be led by tenacious in- 
stinct to the enjoyment of her rights. The vinegar 
of the great Carthagenian was mighty, even to the 
rending of giant cliffs ; yet truth compels us to ad- 
mit that more blessed were they who drank it in 
the less potent form of gentle wine. It is an amia- 
ble weakness, this longing after — immortality. In 
union is streno;th, and out of the strong comes forth 
sweetness. The virgin thorn is attractive only 
when some nightingale sings with his breast against 



220 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

it. So tlie world reasons, and even the Hglitest of 
all liorlit skirmishers are true to their interests. 
" Marriage is honorable in all," said the Apostle, 
and not being married himself he must have 
known : " for ground in yonder social mill, we rub 
each other's angles down." It mitigates many an 
incongruity of temperament, and blunts many a 
fretful quill, just as boiling mollifies the vindictive 
claws of the lobster. 

" Marriages are made in heaven," says the popu- 
lar dictum. Of these, however, I know nothing, 
unless they are referred to by Milton under the 
form of stars " communicating male and female 
light," — and they do say that Mr. Clark, the as- 
tronomer, has lately discovered that Sirius has taken 
unto himself a wife, and has not hesitated even to 
accuse him of " duplicity " in keeping it so long con- 
cealed from the world. Those made in Nice, how- 
ever, are largely affected by pecuniary considera- 
tions, and to that extent have an earthly taint. In 
her opinions on this subject my friend, Mrs. World- 
lywiseman, is perfectly correct. Love was created 
for Byron and Tennyson to write about, and not for 
a moment to be practically tested. Social consider- 
ations have clipped his wings, and nowadays when 
asked to fly he replies, "iZ ny a pas de quoi^ 
The French philosopher sagaciously remarked, 
" La femme est un puits dont VJiomme est le seau.^'' 
He had married a lady with a dot of 500,000 francs, 
and therefore his opinion was worth having, as valu- 



NICE. 221 

able, in fact, as that of Diogenes on tubs. What he 
said was emphatically true as far as he was con- 
cerned ; but what comes of lowering an empty 
bucket into a dry well ? Children of the whirlwind ; 
social desolation and mutual reproach, domestic fer- 
mentations, heart-burnings, and " inward leaven of 
all uncharitableness." Said the Preacher, " Mar- 
riage without money is as a potato-sprout in a damp 
cellar ; but in an auriferous soil it flourishes like a 
green bay genealogical tree, and birds of paradise 
come and dwell in the branches thereof, — 

" And there securely build, and there 
Securely hatch their young." 

Solomon his Song. 

Hence Mrs. Worldly wiseman, queening it here in 
Nice, has obstinately refused to allow her daughter 
even to speak to the twelfth son of the Prince of 
Thurn and Taxis, though he is descended from 
Prince Bolofnsticalibus, and has the privilege of 
writing Hoch Grehoren before his name, and after it 
too, if he likes. And how could a countrywoman 
of the practical Franklin have acted more wisely ? 
Said she, as it were through the special inspiration 
of that great utilitarian, " If you say another word to 
that young T. and T., I '11 take you home to America 
forthwith. Don't you know he has n't a cent and 
never will have ? I 've been looking in the ' Al- 
manac de Crotha^^ and his father has fifteen children.*' 
Noble woman! to deny herself the proud honor of a 
Hoch Geboren in her family ! Her children shall be 



222 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

like olive plants around her table — and that for an 
indefinite period. 

Such is the Nicene creed as applied to matrimo- 
nial matters, and great have been the complications 
that arose therefrom during the past winter. Such 
mascuhne and feminine scheming and wire-puUing 
as are the offspring of this earthy philosophy, this 
Yankee thrift, surely never were visible to mortal 
eyes before. It has not been without result. A 
few isolated blocks, drifting about in the social sea, 
were drawn into a warmer latitude and melted into 
one liquid union ; very cold, very unproductive, but 
still that union, so gratifying to those enterprising 
mammas who are anxious for the uncertain future. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

A YANKEE ALL ABROAD. 

Among the numerous stately monuments which 
the ancient Rom ms left behind them to bear evi- 
dence to the va rid of the magnificence of their 
reign, the amphitheatres occupy a high rank. Most 
of the large cities of Italy have one, or the remains 
thereof, and not a few towns in other parts of the 
empire are distinguished in the same way. The 
great size and solidity of these have aided in their 
preservation to a remarkable degree, and many still 
keep the greater part of their characteristic features 
and general form. Had they not been built in the 
most massive and durable manner, they would not 
have survived the deadly assaults of the last score of 
centuries. The plundering raids of remorseless 
Huns and Visigoths, fire, flood, earthquake, and the 
rapacity of modern nobles, have all passed over 
without annihilating them ; and any reflecting mind 
will readily admit that in our degenerate days very 
few buildings are erected that would have endured 
one half of what they have, and yet retained one 
stone upon another. At Nismes and Verona, at 
Pompeii and Pozzuoli, these structures are wonder- 



224 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

fallj preserved, and excite the admiration of every 
traveller. The outline of their graceful oval re- 
mains entire, and many of their inner decorations 
are much as they were of old, while not a few 
of the terraced seats even still retain their in- 
tegrity, and in some cases the white marble slabs 
that once covered them. It is easy for the faintest 
imagination to fill them with a crowd of cruel and 
applausive Romans, eagerly looking down upon the 
dying agonies of Christian martyrs, or the fierce 
bowlings and bloody struggles of murdered and 
starving wild beasts. Of these graphic memorials of 
Roman character, a small representative is now to 
be found at Nice. Though not so much unimpaired 
as some, the walls still exist in their ancient circuit, 
and from its present state one can have a very fair 
idea of what it was in its prime. It is at some little 
distance from the centre of the town, though not too 
far for a comfortable walk. All classes find it an 
agreeable resort, and as it is accessible by a good car- 
riage road, even invalids can visit it with bat little 
inconvenience. The views from it are fine, and 
there are few who do not enjoy a great satisfaction 
from the sight of its lofty walls and the shade of the 
refreshing olive and orange groves which surround 
it, and are even in midwinter bent down by the 
weight of their abundant fruit. 

A few evenings since I was strolling through this 
ruin with my head full of consuls and purple sena- 
tors, gladiators and famishing tigers, when I was 



A YANKEE ALL ABROAD. 225 

suddenly conscious of a voice wliich was not quite 
unfamiliar to me. It had a nasal twang, and it came 
o'er my ear like the raw East upon the Banks of 
Newfoundland, and savored much of bagpipes. It 
was in lingua vernaculd, and thus spoke : — 

" Really, now, you don't mean to say that the 
old Romans used to set on them seats, do you ? 
They must ha,ve had mighty stout pants ! " 

I turned, and lo ! my Yankee friend who had 
come abroad for his health, and whom I had met 
at Terni, Rome, Pompeii, and numerous other 
places with big circles against their names on the 
map. He had found a pretty good sized dot against 
Nice, and accordingly put in here to pass a few days. 
He was rejoiced to meet me again, for people gen- 
erally gave him the cold shoulder and made him 
digest it alone. At Rome some wag, with a re- 
morseless soul and little respect for the abstract 
merits of the Yankee character, had called him Sir 
Nasal Twang, the Japanese Ambassador, and by 
reason of his unfortunate utterance the name had 
cluno; to him. He had found few travellers to con- 
verse with, and in truth not every one even from 
Anglo-Saxondom, could understand his remarks. 
He was delighted to meet with one with whom he 
could break his enforced silence, and from the copi- 
ousness of his conversation, or rather monologue, 
that followed, I inferred that he had not enjoyed 
much opportunity of practice for at least a month, 
which is a long time for one of his race to keep still. 
15 



226 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

When lie had beo-un, I let. him run on without inter- 
ruption, for the same reason that I should not have 
tried to dam up the Nile with bulrushes. 

" Yes, those old Romans must have found it 
mighty hard lines when they set down. Why, 
the seats are as rough as a ploughed field, and as 
cold as an axehelve on a mornin' in January. It 
reminds me of the time when I was a youngster and 
mother used to maniperlate me. I wa'n't many 
years out of the egg, and when she caught me dip- 
pin' the cat's tail in the merlasses jug, or any of them 
other innocent little amusements of my infancy, she 
used to try the layin' on o' hands, as she said, for 
my good, without any stint. She used to say it was 
necessary to strike at the root of the evil, and when 
she had done so, she used to set me down rather sud- 
denly on a big stone in the back yard, ' not to get up 
again till I felt better,' as she remarked. It was 
where Sam and me used to crack nuts ; it was darned 
cold and darned rough, and the longer I set, the bet- 
ter I didn't feel, for there was allers some of the 
shucks left lyin' about. By mighty, I don't believe 
that stone would ever ha' hatched, if I had set there 
till the new meetin' house was done. Now, mind 
you, I don't want to say a word agin mother. She 
was a. good woman, and finished her mission long ago. 
She always thought she was doin' her duty, and 
said it was a outward means of grace. I know she 
believed so, for she and all the women in our town 
thought a sight of Parson Pennybeck, and he was 



A YANKEE ALL ABROAD. 227 

all the time tellin' them they 'd orter. He never 
had any childi*en himself, and so it was natral, I 
s'pose, that he should like to stu' up other peoples'. 
I heard him say one Sunday in the pulpit, ' Mothers 
in Israel, you must mould your children with your 
plastic hands ; you must, you mothers, if you would 
bringthemupin the right way.' Perhaps he didn't 
think there 'd he sich a sudden application of his 
remarks ; perhaps he did ; but sich a whalin' and 
a wailin' as there was when them mothers went 
home ! I don't s'pose there ever was sich a outpourin' 
of the spirit since old New Testament times, or the 
first days of the Maine liquor law. I don't think 
there was half sich a screechin' when the innocents 
was slewed. Solomon said, ' Spare the rod and 
spile the child.' He was a great gun in our par- 
ish, an' they was always a lettin' on him off, cos' he 
was so heavily loaded that he made a thunderin' 
big noise, an' there wa'n't no danger of his bustin' 
neither. I know how I hollered, an' it wa'n't for 
joy neither, when mother took it into her head to 
put any of his precepts in practice. I take it, he 
ought to have had some experience in this mat- 
ter too, if his children was any way proportioned 
to the number of his wives, &c. I don't s'pose 
there ever was a man who had a chance to spile 
on sich a large scale as he had, except Brigham 
Young. And my old grandmother used to say 
the same thing that he did. In the matter o' rods 
she wa'n't a teetotaller by any means. She went in 



228 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

for the broadest system o' license you ever see. 
She belonged to the old school, 'fore the temperance 
pledge was started, and the more titillation there 
was inside and out, the better. She got that 'ere 
sentiment out of his j^roverbs, and always remem- 
bered it, I s'pose, because it was easier than any of 
the rest of them nuggets o' wisdom to operate with. 
She 'd look over her horn specs at me in a ogeress 
way, no matter if I had n't done anythin' more 'n put 
a toad in the milk-pan to see him swim, and say, 
' 'Tildy, you 're a spilin' that child.' She said that a 
dozen times a day, if she did once, and jest as often 
as she said it, I was sure to feel mother layin' on 
it on in sich a aggravatin' way. I never felt really 
spilt, though, till she had got done and I was a 
settin' on them nut-shucks. I did n't know then, 
however, that I was got up in the style of the 
ancient Romans. I did n't s'pose they used to set 
on that sort of stile." 

Here he paused to draw breath, and I took ad- 
vantage of the lull to give him some of my ideas in 
regard to ancient amphitheatres : the manner in 
which their seats were covered with white marble, 
and otherwise elegantly and luxuriously decorated, 
according to the means of their occupants to pay 
for them ; the awning of rich silk that was spread 
over the whole broad area to protect the spectators 
from the rays of the sun ; their classification cor- 
responding to their social rank, and many other 
things relevant to the issue, yet too numerous to 



A YANKEE ALL ABROAD, 229 

mention on this occasion. To all these he listened 
with great patience, occasionally interrupting with 
a look of wonder, and a commentary which often 
quite disconcerted me by its originality and want 
of agreement with the place and subject. At 
length, having said my say, I asked him where he 
was stopping. He could not pronounce the name 
of the place, but I finally made out that he was at 
a neighboring boarding-house, or pension, as it is 
called in French, and did n't much hke it. " They 
call it Si pension,^ ^ said he, "but I don't see where 
it comes in. I 've been here a week, and I 'd sell 
my share of it for a squirrel's dinner. There 's 
every sort of thing I don't want, and nothin' I do. 
If I could only get a dish of baked beans, or a loaf 
of brown bread, I 'd be willin' to fight the sea-ser- 
pent. Just look at the sort of bread they have 
here. The loaves are as long and big, and as dirty 
too, by Jemima, as the beams in father's barn to 
home, and when I try to eat 'em, I think they are 
beams. When the pension folks don't want to use 
'em, they stand 'em on end in the entry, to kill the 
boarders I s'pose. When I came down this morn- 
in', I ran against one on 'em and upset it, and that 
and all the rest fell over onto me, and knocked me 
flat. Fust time I was ever knocked down by a 
loaf of bread. I wonder where they bake 'em. In 
some bowlin' alley, or the bed of a canal, I s'pose. 
Yesterday we had a meetin' in the parlor of our 
house. The minister was a Englishman and be- 



230 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

longed to the Queen's church. It was some kind 
of Sunday, that I didn't understand. It's very 
different here from what it is to home. Every Sun- 
day ain't like every other Sunday, but it has some 
sort of name, and the whole of 'em are a darned 
sight different from any Sunday I ever saw in 
America. 

" The preachin' wa'n't very powerfiil because it 
was read out of a book, and there wa'n't many folks 
there. I heard some one say afterwards it was for 
fear of offendin' the prejudices of the natives herea- 
bouts. After the exercises was over the parson came 
and spoke to me, and asked me where I was from. 
I told him, and he said he always felt a great interest 
in our country, especially since the war. He said 
he and all his friends had been Union men at heart 
from the beginning, but had n't wanted to speak out 
'cos they did n't like to excite the illiberal feelin's 
of their neighbors. He remarked also that he had 
heard thousands of Englishmen say the same since 
the rebellion was put down. ' You know we always 
hoped you 'd succeed, and did n't doubt you w^ould. 
You 're our cousins, and came out of the same lines 
originally, and so of course you orter.' He said 
this in a smilin' sort jf way, and I did n't want to 
offend him, so I only said I thought our lines had 
been a great deal harder lately than any his folks 
had been through. ' You belong to our church, 
don't you ? ' said he. ' No, I don't,' said I ; 'I be- 
long to the standin' order.' — ' What is that ? ' said 



A YANKEE ALL ABROAD. 231 

"he. ' Why, don't you know ? It 's tlie church that 
Captain Standish and General Knox belonged to, 
and that fit so well in the Revolution. It was 
own cousin to the one that cut King Charles's head 
off.' — ' I never heard of it,' said he, ' but I s'pose 
you 're familiar with the principles of our creed ; 
you know the Thirty-nine Articles ? ' — ' When I 
went to school,' said I, ' there was only two of 'em, 
and they were taught in Murray's Grammar. I 
didn't know they had discovered any more. I 
think it 's jest as likely as not, tho', for I never look 
in the papers without readin' about some new planet 
they 've bin rootin' up, and I think they found 
enough of 'em already, and if they 've set to work 
on articles, why, I 'm glad of it. Which are they,' 
said I, ' definite or indefinite ? ' He laughed shortly 
at first, and seemed to choke. At first I did n't 
know but he would, and then I did n't know but he 
would. Then he smiled, as if a new idea had slid 
across his face and polished it, and replied that since 
the decision in Colenso's case, — at least I believe 
that was what he said, — he could n't tell. 

" ' Well,' said I, ' I never knew anything about 
that man. He ain't in the Bible, and I hain't seen 
his name among the Presidents of the United States. 
So it ain't probable that he amounts to much any- 
way. But,' said I, ' I know one thing ' — I was 
gittin' a little riled talkin' Math a Englisher — ' it 's 
jest the way it happens all the time ; there 's allers 
somethin' new turnin' up nowadays that I never 



232 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

heard on. The world 's changin' jest Hke the moon ; 
't ain't neither bread nor dough ; it 's half possum 
and half kangaroo, and a man can't tell, when he 
gets up in the mornin', what '11 turn up afore night. 
In old times the world was n't always gettin' off the 
track. It was the same all the year long. Things 
went on in a highly respectable old way, jest as 
the earth goes round and round in her orbit now. 
It was like my old cow Molly. When I am at 
home and go to fetch her at milkin' time, she is 
sure as eggs is eggs to be at the bars, switchin' her 
tail and lookin' down the lane and chewin' her cud 
like Nebuchadnezzar. But s'posin' every now and 
then she should stick her tail straight up in the air 
like a crowbar, and put, peltin' here and there 
through the bushes and over the rocks like wild-fire, 
as if the Old Scratch was after her. What should 
1 think of her ? And s'posin' the earth should spill 
over the rim some day and go off on a lark with 
Mars or Neptune, and not come home till mornin' ? 
What would you think of that ? But it 's jest what 
they 're doin' nowadays all over Christendom. Why, 
I 'd as lieve's live in a balloon ! ' 

" Here I was obliged to stop, and the parson said 
my views was original and interestin', but this was 
an age of progress. ' Yes,' said I, ' and that 's jest 
it. We 're a goin' ahead like a comet, that goes a 
billion miles a day and then busts. And wliat does 
it all come to ? It don't amount to shucks.' The 
parson said that man was made to labor, and must 



A YANKEE ALL ABROAD. 233 

find a proper field for the development, I think he 
said, of his power. — 'T would n't take more 'n one 
of his words to make a line of rather stiff poetry, 
and some on 'em sounded as if they come from the 
Indian Bible. — ' Work while it is day, for the wise 
man said. Vita hrevis est.' I '11 take my 'davy he said 
that, and I remembered it because I used to write 
it at school for copy. I 've written them words forty 
thousand times, and they ain't always true nuther. 
I thouo-ht I 'd let him see that I had had a classical 
education as well as some other folks. So I added in 
a austere way, ' Yes, Xerxes the great did die, and 
so must you and I.' He smiled and said, ' Fine, my 
friend, though it ain't classic' — ' 'T is in my coun- 
try,' said I, ' though some of this generation say it 
ain't. It come from the " New England Primer," 
and that 's jest as good classics as a man would want 
to hail from any day. 'T was fust- rate primin' for 
the Pilgrims, and the w\ay they fit King Philip shows 
it. They gave him a fit that he never got over, 
though p'r'aps you never heard of him. We sacked 
his Troy and sent him on a mission to t' other world 
to convert his brethren, if it wa'n't too late. That 
'ere book,' said I, growin' big and raisin' my voice 
like Patrick Henry, 'had a good deal to do with 
the makin' o' us ; more 'n you 'd think, I dare say, 
or most folks at home either. You English are al- 
ways talkin' about Plato, and Virgil, and Horace, 
and all them classics, but they never did as much for 
you as the authors of the "New England Primer" 
did for us.' 



234 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

" I had got so excited," said lie, " that I had to 
leave off to recover my voice. Whereupon the 
parson took out a little book. It was bound in black 
morocco and with his initials in gilt on the cover. 
Some Dorcas in the Church had made it for him, 
I '11 bet you. He remarked, ' I have here a list 
of subscribers to our church. We are greatly in 
need of money, and the expenses thus far have been 
paid by a few kind friends who have been very lib- 
eral. What shall I set you down for,' added he, 
taking out a pencil with an ivory tip. ' You may 
set me down for a darned fool, if I give anything,' 
said I. 'T was mighty rough, I know, and I 've 
wished since that I had n't said so, but I was bilin' 
over with rage and didn't care what I did say. 
Here he was cooin' round, to make me support his 
church, when I don't belong to it and don't know 
nuthin about it. S'posin' 't was only another form 
of the papacy, and Queen Victoria the pope on 't, 
perhaps the woman in the Apocalypse, for aught 
I know. S'posin' this was so, and I had given him 
twenty-five cents in currency, what could I ha' said 
to the 'postle John, and them that writ the ' New 
Eno-land Primer,' if I had ever met either of 'em ? 
An' how could I ha' had the face to say any thin' 
to Solomon about the good effects o' his rod, if I 'd 
ever happened to come across him ? An' that 'ere 
parson a pretendin' that he was and always had 
been a Union man at heart ! I 'd rather by a darned 
sight ha' given the money to Queen Victoria, to 



A YANKEE ALL ABROAD. 235 

help her buy a portrait of Prince Albert, — an' they 
say she hain't got a good one yet, — than waste it 
on this feller with his thirty-seven new articles an' 
his soft sodder." 

My friend was proceeding to give further ex- 
pression to his sentiments in regard to the Church 
of England and her followers, w^hen he was seized 
with a violent fit of coughing, and went ashore with 
all sails set. I saw him safely home and then re- 
turned to my own quarters, much reflecting on the 
unique phases of Yankee character in foreign lands. 
Perhaps the narrative of his woes has bored my 
readers, but I thought they might possibly endure 
to the end by reason of the profitable moral to be 
drawn from them by those who read in the right 
spirit. If they learn nothing else, they will benefit 
by a knowledge of the miseries arising from com- 
plete ignorance of any language but one's mother 
tono-ue, and can at least extract the moral that 
Theodore Plook brought home from Pans, and 
which might be carved over the door posts of our 
Yankee friend : — 

" If you go to France, 

Be sure and learn the lingo*, 
If you don't, like me, 
You'll repent, by Jingo." 



CHAPTER XVII. 

MISCHIANZA DI NIZZA. 

A French poetaster, skipping nimbly up to the 
zenith over a ladder of hexameters, in one of his 
sputtering fire-works calls Nice " The pearl of wa- 
tering-places." Very pretty and very Frenchy, 
doubtless, and correct, as far as it goes. He would 
have come nearer the truth, however, if he had 
called it a collection of all kinds of gems. In ad- 
dition to its other attractions, there is no form of so- 
ciety that is not represented among those who 
resort to it, from the highest to the lowest. There 
is wealth and poverty, aristocracy and commonalty, 
beauty and homeliness, and every other phase and 
condition, both of mind and body, that human na- 
ture assumes on this planet. Kings and princes, 
poets and divines, generals and statesmen are to be 
seen in abundance ; and one finds plenty of Mrs. 
Leo Hunters, Miss Lydia Whites, and other blue 
belles not yet gone to seed, that are prone to feed 
them and stroke their sensitive fur the right way ; 
for it is a fact that even Serene Majesties, in their 
hours of ease, have been known to submit to the 
blandishments of the fair, and epic poets have at 



MISCHIANZA DI NIZZA. 237 

times displayed a weakness for the poor creature, 
small beer. One lady, in particular, who comes 
from our own country, has taken a high stand in 
this respect, and at least once a week entertains in 
a queenly way quite a menagerie of lions. She 
occupies the whole of the first floor of one of the 
largest hotels, and devotes herself principally to 
kings, empresses, authors that have reached a sec- 
ond edition, and generals who have gained a great 
victory. The kings and poets are asked to dinner, 
the rest are invited to an intellectual feast, more or 
less Barmecide, in the evening, and make their ap- 
pearance after the dessert. It will be obvious that 
her receptions are quite select, and every one will 
see that too much shrewdness and s avoir fair e can- 
not be employed in managing such independent and 
eccentric guests. All the world will at once call 
to mind the results that followed from letting loose 
upon society a great traveller, fresh from the Upper 
Cataracts of the Nile, with no one to mitigate him. 
And yet our fair countrywoman — I call her this 
out of regard to the republican simplicity in which 
my readers have been brought up ; she is here 
called the Queen of the United States — presides 
over her salons with grace and dignity. She rules 
with despotic grandeur, like a feminine Batty, and 
has no hesitation in using the veto power guaran- 
teed her by the female constitution. This saves 
a world of social red-tapeism and circumlocution. 
" Do you know Mr. , Madam ? " — " No, I do 



238 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

not ; who is lie ? " comes down like a tow^ering and 
irresistible extinguisher, and another night's candle 
is snuffed out; such husbandry is apparent in the 
lofty region where she dwells. 

Among other notabilities there has lately been 
residing at Nice a great poet from the United 
States. I am sure he must be a great poet, because 
a friend of mine told me so, who had his informa- 
tion fr'om the imperishable himself; moreover, I 
heard a Frenchman speak of him as " im celehre 
poete Americain.^^ He is not here now, having 
lately dawned upon another community. I had 
never heard of him until I came to Nice, and a 
short time since fell into dissfrace from that fact. 
I will give my readers an account of the matter, 
that it may be unto them for a portent and a cau- 
tion to get up their literature, before they frequent 
this home of the Muses. I w^as passmg along the 
street " in a permiscuous way," one fine winter after- 
noon, when I met an acquaintance. The weather 
was delightful, and Nature had nothing the matter 
with her. She seemed to have adorned herself, as if 
perfectly reckless in regard to the pecuniary results 
of her investment. So delicate was the tempera- 
ture, that a horse was standing up to his neck at the 
spot where the cloaca maxima of Nice empties into 
the sea ; around him v,^ere jocund women, doing 
the tri-weekly washing of themselves and their 
able-bodied relatives, while the latter, availing them- 
selves of the situation, were drawing in a net with 



MISCHIANZA DI NIZZA. 239 

only a faint soup^on of drape ly upon their persons. 
Everytliing suggested Paradise and the Homeric 
age, and I thought of our first "parients" with 
regret. My friend was in perfect unison with the 
scene around, and wore lemon-colored gloves and a 
large bouquet, radiant as if cut from a solar spectre. 

" Balm of a thousand flowers," said I in my fes- 
tivest mood, " whither away ? " 

He smole a smile slightly clouded with contempt, 
and said, — 

" Are you not aware that this is the reception 
day of B k, the distinguished American poet ? " 

" No," said I, " I did not aware it." 

'' Don't you know him ? " added he, slightly 
backing water. 

" I know him not. Good God, betimes remove 
the means that makes us strangers ! " rejoined I in 
italics, with a tragic air and quoting from the works 
of '^ Paradise Lost " by Jolm Milton, that he might 
see I was not the egregious reptile he took me for. 

" You don't mean it, though ! " re-rejoined he 
with a big point of admiration in each eye. 

" I never felt meaner in my life," I joined with 
another re. I was willing to let him know that I 
could pull up a joke, like the author of the " Last 
Rose of Summer," on the scaffold, even though my 
heart was at the root. 

" Did you ever read his ' Ode on the Death of 
Sardanapalus ? ' " said he. 

"No," said I, "never." 



240 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

"Or his ' Epithalamium on the Last Notes of a 
Djing Swan ' ? " 

" No," said I, " never ; and what's more I never 
heard of them, or anything else that he ever 
wrote," subjoined I, waxing desperate. 

" Well," suggested he, " you ought to know 
him, and it 's a shame you don't. To-day he is one 
of our greatest poets. You claim to be a literary 
man and not know B k ! Whew ! " 

Here he opened a safety-valve, and let off a cloud 
of steam. I took advantage of the lull to bring all 
my guns to bear upon him and fire a whole Dun- 
derberg broadside at once. 

" Now I '11 tell you what it is," said I : " I have 
read from beginning to end the great ' Encyclopae- 
dia' by Mr. Duychinck, the Boanerges of American 
literature. It contains the names of all the writers 
that ever flourished on the liberal side of the Atlan- 
tic, from Pocahontas down to Phillis Wheatley and 
the Bloomingdale contributors to the ' New York 
Herald,' together with a genealogy of each, as com- 
plete as that in the first chapter of Matthew. It in- 
cludes everything they ever wrote, their articles in 
the newspapers of the period, the sermons they 
preached, the answers they sent to their invitations 
to dinner, and the hymns they composed for the 
funerals of deacons, and other members of sister 
churches in good standing, whose friends — some 
people are never satisfied — thought that death was 
not enough, but wanted to run the thing into the 



MlSCniANZA DI NIZZA. 241 

ground. This list embraces all the stars of the lit- 
erary heavens, from the largest planet down to the 
smallest sidereal animalcule visible to the naked 
eye, and some that can hardly be made out at the 
present day, even by the great Cambridge reflector. 
Your friend's name is not among them," concluded 
I, planting a shot from my heaviest Dahlgren in 
his vitals. Thereupon I exited, leaving him in pos- 
session of the field and the one thousand dewy 
odors of his bouquet. Was I entitled to the victory, 
and have the beauty and chivalry of Nice been en- 
tertaining a fallen angel unawares ? or has the in- 
defatigal)le and all-embracing Duychinck left out 
of his Pantheon one name belonging to the sort 
called immortal ? 

Nice is often visited by one dignitary of high rank 
who, in his day, was about as well known in Europe 
as Bacchus, or Don Juan. I refer to Louis, ex- 
King of Bavaria, and grandfather of the present roi 
fainSant and dilettanti sovereign of that country. 
He is a venerable sinner, and the snows of eighty 
winters have done little towards chilling his blood, 
or leading him to the gates of repentance. This is 
probably the reason of that deep interest in his wel- 
fare which led the Pope to visit him so often during 
his winter residence in Rome. This veteran Lo- 
thario, once not unfamiliar to America as the next 
friend of Lola Montez, is still as devoted to the fair 
sex as he ever was, and as fond of dancing, as if he 
were descended from Terpsichore on the mother's 

16 



242 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

side. In spite of his age, his love of pleasure is un- 
diminished, and he still accepts every invitation that 
he receives, which is consistent with ex-royal eti- 
quette, whether to ball, dinner, or supper, nor is he 
by any means the first to leave. The vigorous old 
age that comes as a lusty winter, frosty but kindly, 
one may well admire and reverence ; but gray hairs 
crowned with the faded flowers of fashionable dissi- 
pation can only excite contempt. If anything were 
needed to fill up the measure of an American's dis- 
dain of royalty, it is, or should be, the sight of this 
battered old beau, this decrepit Anacreon, stooping 
with the weight of fourscore, already feeling his 
breath thickened and his pulses clogged by the 
surges that flow from the broad wings of the angel 
of death, his face sunken and scarred by the ex- 
ploded craters of a thousand passions, whose fiery 
lava has eaten out deep wrinkles ; and yet, on the 
verge of the grave, still clinging tenaciously to the 
muddy dregs of a wasted life, battening on the foul 
flesh-pots which remorse ought long ago to have 
driven him to loathe, haunting ball-rooms like a 
ghoul, and presenting his withered form at fash- 
ionable dinner-parties like the spectre of life-in-death 
— a spectacle truly hateful to gods and men ! And 
yet I regret to say that there is no lack of people 
of social distinction here, and Americans too, who 
gladly give a welcome to this royal excrescence, 
who bow down to it, kiss the hem of its garment 
with humble prostration, and bestow upon it a rev- 
erence that the well deserving rarely receive. 



MISCHIANZA DI NIZZA. 243 

The King was always rather hard of hearing, 
and with the progress of years his tympana have not 
become by any means more sensitive. Now he 
might " wear a percussion-cap, and be knocked on 
the head without hearing it snap." This is a great 
annoyance, as he always had a weakness for talk- 
mg, and was never known to Usten to any one for 
two consecutive minutes, except upon compulsion. 
Probably it was this want of practice that made him 
deaf, as Rogers once kindly remarked of a friend of 
similar temperament, who suffered from the same 
defect. When the King was at Munich before his 
constrained abdication in 1848, he used to walk 
among his subjects at times, and chat with them in 
the public gardens and concert rooms. What he 
said was known to all present, and no one needed to 
ask his neighbor with bated breath, for his voice 
was loud, and he scattered his words as liberally as 
the Sibyl's leaves. One day he spoke to a beauti- 
fal Jewess. After a few questions he asked, — " Are 
you married ? " 

" Nein^ euer Majestat^ " — " No, your Majesty," 
was the reply. 

Majesty did not hear, but acted as if it did, and 
pursued its investigations. 

" Have you any children ? " 

"iVem, euer Majestat,^' was the emphatic response 
of the ruffled and indignant Susannah. 

Unluckily for her the words nein — no, and 
neun — nine, have very nearly the same pronunci- 



244 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

ation. Royalty having heard the last answer, natu- 
rally assumed the latter meaning, and looked in ma- 
jestic wonderment at the lady, who was young and 
fair. After a moment's pause, it shook its head, and 
emphatically ejaculating, — " Too many, too many, 
altogether ! " passed on amid the suppressed enthu- 
siasm of the spectators. 

This matter of deafness recalls to me a little ex- 
tract from Dumas' Memoires, though as far as con- 
cerns any connection with the subject, it might well 
be placed on the Committee of Foreign Relations. 
" ' Do you know. Madam, that Chateaubriand is be- 
coming deaf? ' said I one day to Madam O'Donnel, 
a woman of wit. ' Yes,' replied she ; ' it is because 
they have ceased to talk about him.' This was 
true ; during the latter years of Chateaubriand's 
life there was against him a terrible conspiracy, that 
of silence." These words come with increased 
power from their writer's pen, for if any one can 
speak ex cathedra on this subject, it is Dumas. And 
yet he is only une idee more vain than all the rest of 
his tribe. It is not in their nature to withstand that 
" terrible conspiracy of silence." The Gallic cock 
is a spirited bird, but he takes every hour for dawn 
and crows incessantly. He can rarely discern, for 
the most part, the difference between sunrise and 
moonrise, and yet he is continually flapping his 
wings and piping a childish treble to proclaim to the 
world that he knows everything. Silence is to him 
an unfruitful hlague^ and rather than endure it he will 



MISCHIANZA DI NIZZA. 245 

sit on a fence and make a din, just to hear his own 
voice. This apphes especially to modern French 
authors. They are egotistic to the last degree, and 
yet their works are often as empty as the whistling 
wind. Compared with the best writings of other 
countries, the great majority of them are as an 
omelette souffle to light and nutritious bread ; and 
though lively and spirituelle, they are as ill calcu- 
lated to satisfy the cravings of a healthy mind as 
cafe au lait, with the cafe left out, the demands of 
a tired stomach, Alphonse Karr is residing at 
Nice now. He has written over thirty books of 
various sorts^ but none of any depth, except of 
that kind which Christian waded through in the 
Slough of Despond. One of his earliest and most 
successful works was entitled " Ce quHl y a dans une 
Bouteille cCEnere.'''' This was published many years 
ago, and M. Karr has been giving the world the sedi- 
ment of his " ink-bottle " ever since. Lately, hav- 
ing found the Parisian market overstocked, he has 
turned his attention to gardening. This was a 
shrewd contrivance on his part, and shows that he 
understands thoroughly the sort of people that read 
his works. 

The French like novelty, and when Jasmin, the 
barber-poet, came out of his lathery chrysalis, all 
the world applauded. " Cest tout-d-fait fran^ais^'^ 
every one cried out with enthusiasm. " What other 
nation ever produced a barber that could do up one's 
hair in poetical curl-papers and improvisate an ode 



246 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

to the glory oila grande nation^ while he shampooed 
you ? " No one took the trouble to contradict the 
question, and all humanity rushed to his shop to be 
frizzled and curled a V Apollo, and buy shaving-paper 
and trunk-linings of his own composition. Gold 
crowns and wreaths came rushing in, and busts and 
statues were voted by a gratefiil people. And 
where is he now, and where are his soapy heroics ? 
Ask yesterday's cloud, and it will tell you as well as 
any one. With this prospect of present grace and 
great prediction before him, M. Karr very naturally 
thought that " the gardener-author " was as fair a 
name as " the barber-poet," and would start a 
spirit as soon. So he went to Nice, bought a lot of 
ground, built a house " d'une simplieite touchante,''^ 
and hung up a sign, " Alphonse Karr, Jardinier,^^ 
visible even at the present day to those curious 
in such matters. The spot is laid out with much 
taste, and great attention has been paid to the culti- 
vation of rare exotics of every species. In this deli- 
cate air almost any product of the vegetable world 
will grow with luxuriance, and hence along the 
shady avenues of the Jardin Karr, one is not sur- 
prised to see the cyclamen flowering profusely in 
the dead of winter under the pahu, or roses and vio- 
lets springing up at the root of the fragile bamboo. 
M. Karr soon found that he had not reckoned in vain 
in his literary speculation, and his mercenary muse is 
now winning the race in a canter. All the specta- 
tors look on with applause and admire the clever- 



MISCHIANZA DI NIZZA. 247 

ness of the victor, except, perhaps, M. Lamartine, 
who regrets that his talents are not of the same prac- 
tical cast. Every one goes to visit this thrifty- 
genius in retirement, and most of the visitors buy 
bouquets at twenty francs a piece to offer to their 
friends. Many also are sent to Paris, and all pay a 
handsome profit. It does not often happen that the 
muse holds so full a cornucopia as this, and often 
it is entirely empty. M. Karr has a shop on the 
Rue Massena, and there he sets his floral traps 
in profusion. Lately he has been goading on the 
appetites of the blase Parisians by an additional 
stimulus. He has adopted the plan of attaching to 
his nosegays sundry ribbons of various colors, on 
which are printed in gold letters divers sententious 
epigrams, composed by himself. These are styled 
guepes^ or wasps, and are generally taken from a 
work by this author published some years ago. 
They certainly deserve this name for their signifi- 
cance and uselessness, if not for their stings. I ap- 
pend a few, to gratify the curiosity of my readers : — 

" Tout le monde veut un ami, mais personne ne s'occupe 
d'en etre un. 

" De notre temps, apres de longues et sanglantes luttes, on a 
acquis une seule egalite ; I'egalite des besoins et des depenses. 

" II y a deux sortes de passions, — les passions que nous avons, 
et les passions qui nous ont. On triomphe quelquefois des pre- 
mieres. 

" II n'y a pas beaucoup de riches qui auraient le moyen 
d'etre pauvres." 

These are very concise, and quite in the style 



248 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

of Rochefoucauld ; in fact, they would be quite per- 
fect if they had any meaning. Notwithstanding, 
the conceit has proved a success on the banks of 
the Seine, and it is now considered quite the thing 
when one is very much in love, to express his infat- 
uation by the offer of a bouquet from Nice, with one 
of the confectionery squibs of this frothy Solomon 
dangling from it, like a tipsy Cupid hung up by 
the heels. I dare say, though, that ?a/^^^2^rg, how- 
ever much she might like to be in the fashion, would 
quite as soon have the flowers alone, and thus be 
spared bothering her brains in trying to pick out 
the stings of M. Karr's wasps. The recipients of 
his pithy inanities are almost as much to be commis- 
erated as the guests of Warren Hastings. After 
his return from India, this great statesman main- 
tained a splendid hospitality at Daylesford, and be- 
ing anxious to show the world how completely the 
lamb had absorbed the tiger, devoted a large part 
of his wealthy leisure to literature and the enter- 
tainment of literary men. We are informed that 
at breakfast, every person found at the side of his 
plate a copy of original verses, composed by his 
host during the early morning hours, and bearing 
weighty evidence of his industry, if not of his poet- 
ical talent. The muses came in with the mutton, 
and rhymes with the rolls, but it may be well 
doubted if the digestion of the guests was improved 
thereby. 

It would be quite useless to give a complete list 



MISCHIANZA DI NIZZA. 249* 

of the notabilities who make their home at Nice 
for a large part of the year. It would be as long as 
Homer's catalogue of ships. There is Dr. Pascale, 
who is a practicing physician, fattening both in 
purse and reputation through the fame that Ruffini 
gave him years ago as Dr. Antonio. The English 
are particularly devoted to him, but hardly find him 
the equal of the novelist's creation. Here is the 
Duke of Parma, own cousin to the Queen of Spain, 
who, forced to abdicate his throne like his illustrious 
ancestor, Charles the Fifth, like him has employed 
his enforced idleness in the acquisition of time-keep- 
ers and \vatches. Of these he has an enormous 
number, and spends a large part of the day in the 
profitable and brilliant occupation of winding them 
up. If he is led by the results of their movements 
to the same sagacious reflection that was made by 
the great Emperor under similar circumstances, it 
may do some good to posterity, thovigh too late to 
restore him to his old dominions. Baron Adolphe 
Rothschild has a villa here and so has Prince 
Schleswig-Holstein, Sonderbourg-Glucksbourg — it 
is not true, by the way, that the latter is the bright 
original of Wilkie Collins' "No Name" — and many 
other lofty grandees from foreign countries with 
stunning titles take up their residence here for six 
months in the year. As a natural consequence, the 
society of Nice is more aristocratic than that of 
any other European watering-place, and is consid- 
ered in the matter of elegance and high breeding to 



250 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

rank next to that of Paris. Hence admission into 
its inner circles is eagerly sought by all visitors, and 
hence comes that general medley, that Mischianza 
di Nizza., which was selected as the title to this 
chapter. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

NICE TO PARIS. 

The distance from Nice to Paris is about 675 
miles. Thanks to the excellent manao^ement of the 
French railways, one can do the whole of this long 
and somewhat tedious jom^nej in twenty-seven 
hours without interruption. The country through 
which the route passes after leaving Marseilles, is 
not by any means interesting, and at the time of 
my trip was less so than ever, from the fact that a 
large part was under water, owing to the heavy 
rains, and the people of many of the villages were 
living like Egyptian Fellahs during the rise of the 
Nile. Their existence was frog-ish, hippopotamus- 
like, and generally amphibious, yet they stood fast 
by the ancient ways, and did not abandon their 
houses till the onward march of the gallant Khone 
compelled them to retreat to the highlands. This 
stream is a most obstreperous power, from its source 
in the Valais to the mouth through which it dis- 
charges its dirty and pestilent waters into the Med- 
iterranean. It incessantly maintains an irrepressible 
conflict with everything and everybody on its shores, 
and seems animated with a demon of destruction. 



252 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

Its river-god must be Pluto, and it lias done more 
towards peopling his kingdom than any other river 
of its size in the world. It has not even the 
recommendation of picturesque features to offset its 
ruinous spirit, and does not possess the least attract- 
iveness throughout its whole course. Its banks 
are low, its w^aters muddy, and, though they move 
wdth rapidity, yet the only image they suggest is 
that of a drunken canal. They go reeling along on 
a general smash, like the captain of the Polly Ann. 
The interior of this country ordinarily is not very 
agreeable to travellers ; and after having spent 
several years in looking for " the sunny vales of 
France " without success, I have come to the con- 
clusion that they were invented by Lord Macaulay, 
as a sort of lively image to adorn his captivating 
poem of Henry IV., spirited and enticing as the 
snow-white plume of its hero, that flashed over the 
embattled ranks at Ivry. The only sunny vales I 
have met with are in the Bois de Boulogne^ and 
these possess a suspicious air of having been made 
to order, to supply a sudden demand for that article 
in the Parisian market. 

Those who have a knack at figures can easily 
calculate without much exertion, that the time made 
by the through trains from Nice is excellent, the 
average being 25 miles an hour, including stop- 
pages. This would be regarded as very fair speed 
in any country, especially when one takes into 
account the remoteness of the two cities, and the 



NICE TO PARIS. 253 

possibility of delays over so great a space. It 
would not, perhaps, satisfy the American idea, 
which is gratified with beino; hurled on, as if one 
were drawn by a comet, so that the telegraph poles 
look like a comb a thousand miles long ; but still, it 
contents the people of this benighted land, who have 
never heard of anything better. The train consists 
of only first-class cars, and the price of a ticket is 
125 francs, or about $25 in gold. This amounts to 
nearly four cents per mile, and is somewhat more 
than would be paid for a similar trip in the United 
States. The number of cars was twelve, and it was 
certainly not a little interesting to notice how they 
were classified and arranged, in order to provide for 
the needs and claims of modern travellers. Ten 
years ago such demands as are now made and 
granted without a murmur, would have been scout- 
ed as extravagant and unreasonable ; to-day they 
are no longer refused, but tacitly acknowledged to 
be indispensable. Here again American and Eng- 
lish gold has exacted fi:'om railway officials luxuries 
which its possessors cannot obtain on any terms in 
their own countries, and these are even demanded 
as sine qua non's by those who can afford to pay for 
them. Most of my readers know that the French 
cars are so constructed that the passengers sit 
opposite each other, — half riding with their faces, 
half with their backs, to the engine. Each has 
three compartments, and in each of these are seats 
for eight persons. All the decorations and appoint- 



254 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

ments are comfortable and elegant, and every travel- 
ler has a handsome arm-chair, so thickly stuffed and 
springed, that a roll down an embankment would 
hardly disconcert him. The forward end of most 
of the carriages has only one row of seats and is 
called the coupe. The whole front is of plate glass, 
and offers an unobstructed view in every direction. 
This apartment is often fitted up with beds for two 
persons and is then styled a coupS lit. It offers as 
pleasurable a mode of journeying as the most exact- 
ing Sybarite could desire, and yet it has many a 
time been enjoyed by the descendants of the travel- 
lers who landed on Plymouth Rock in the dead 
of ^vinter. I fear, alas ! that Nice may prove the 
Capua of Cape Cod. And yet I don't know why 
even a pilgrim going in the wrong direction may 
not empty every possible pea, boiled or not, out of 
his shoes, and take such comfort as he can snatch 
on the wing. The arrangement that I have spoken 
of supra is infinitely more healthy and agreeable 
than our sleeping-cars, those vans of misery, per- 
ambulating sardine-boxes, sarcophagi full of night- 
mare ridden mummies, where after one passenger 
has done with his breath he passes it over to his 
next neighbor to be used again, till everybody is 
breathing great " gouts " of carbonic acid gas, like 
" a commodity of w^arm slaves " in a Black Hole. 
It is of little use, however, to call up the agonies of 
a night on one of those infernal machines, the more 
so that the coupe lit can hardly be expected to be 



NICE TO PARIS. 255 

used in America, on account of the great space re- 
quired by each brace of travelHng epicures who 
should wish to use it. 

But that is not the only fastidious refinement of 
modern travel displayed on this exemplary road. 
There is also a saloon-car, which is really a draw- 
ing-room on wheels. It is elegantly furnished with 
sofas at the sides and a table in the centre, and is 
frequently engaged by families, or parties, who wish 
to be too;ether without intrusion from strangers. 
Another carriage is devoted to the mails, and forms 
a perambulating post-office, in which the letters are 
assorted and the bags made up with as much secu- 
rity, as if the whole establishment Avere anchored to 
the Pont Neuf. Some cars are provided with 
smoking facilities, and in others sensitive and un- 
protected females are allowed to ride without in- 
haling the tainted breath of that dreadful weed. In 
fact, so great is the variety of these vehicles that no 
two are exactly alike in their arrangements, or the 
uses to which they are devoted. It is both fortu- 
nate and necessary that this should be so : fortunate 
for those who from any cause are constrained to 
take so long a journey ; necessary for the sick, who 
are forced to resort to southern climates to prolong 
their lives, and who in many cases would be entirely 
unable to endure the fatigues of the trip if these 
comforts were not provided. The number of in- 
valids that pass their winters on the shores of the 
Mediterranean is very great, and increases every 



256 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

year. Early as it was at tins time for the delicate 
in health to go north, there were several of those 
thus afflicted on the train to Paris, and two were 
brought to the car doors on litters. Later in the 
season one of these trains must resemble a moving 
hospital. 

Those who have read " Mugby Junction," and 
luxuriated in the graphic description of the aggra- 
vations, mental and bodily, that are caused by rail- 
way restaurantism in England ; ruining the constitu- 
tions of luckless tourists, and throwing the depart- 
ment of the interior into convulsions, shortening 
their lives, and scattering the lavish seeds of incur- 
able dyspepsia, and all at a frightful expenditure of 
money and patience ; those that have done all this 
will be pleased to learn that the contrast with con- 
tinental railroads, which Dickens so forcibly pre- 
sents, is emphatically borne out by the facts as they 
now exist. On the way from Nice to Paris the neat 
and well arranged buffets are quite seductive. They 
are like mile-stones marking the road to the Grand 
Hotel, as the avenue of amiable sphinxes used to 
intimate somewhat grimly the way to the Great 
Pyramid. Mrs. Sniff and her regiment of bando- 
lining young ladies are afar. One finds no " saw- 
dust sandwiches," stinging with mustard, pungently 
realizing the apples of Sodom, and ravaging the 
stomach like a lighted fire-work ; no rasping sherry, 
or port excoriating the vitals ; no " foaming public," 
no '' disdaineous females." The refreshmenting de- 



NICE TO PARIS. 257 

partment is not " a delightful lark," but a fat tur- 
key stuffed with truffles, so that he that runs may 
cut and come again, and with intense satisfaction. 
The food is invariably good, and not exorbitant in 
price ; while the liquids, from coffee to wine, are 
generally what they pretend to be. Their influence 
is soothing to the stomach and philosophic in its 
effect upon the mind, and this is saying a great deal 
in their commendation ; for a tour by night is a pro- 
longed torture at best, and one ought to possess a 
wonderful temper and rude health to endure it with 
any degree of equanimity. " It is the stomach that 
rules the world," said Napoleon, — or at least some 
one said that he said so, which amounts to pretty 
much the same thing, — and 700 miles of railway 
strongly incline a man to believe in its truth, 
whether it is an idee Napoleonienne or not. If 
merit had its reward in this world, the physicians of 
England would erect a handsome memorial to the 
proprietress of " the Down Eefreshment Room at 
Mugby Junction," and her bandolining young ladies ; 
but as it is, they have thus far only been gibbeted 
into a sort of dubious immortality by the pen of a 
ready writer. 

One finds a great difference in various ways be- 
tween Nice and Paris, and in the matter of climate 
the March madness of the latter is brought home 
with great force. It no more rains green pease 
mingled with showers of roses and orange-blossoms. 
One can no longer satisfy his craving for dates by 
17 



258 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

halting under the first palm-tree with his mouth 
open, till the honeyed nuggets drop upon his palate. 
Laurel crowns can no more be seen on the tree-tops, 
and century-plants have ceased to send up their 
superb candelabra of cream-colored flowers. Paris 
is in a state of mud. The streets drip with liquid 
macadam ; the sky is covered with clouds, and looks 
like a huge dun-colored and fearfully leaky umbrella ; 
the trees in the Champs Elysees and the boulevards 
all bear the aspect of gaunt and disheveled naked- 
ness. The sycamores are dangling in the wind 
the long strings of last year's balls, — the only 
tribute they can offer to Parisian gayety ; while 
here and there a slight tremor is visible on the ends 
of the chestnut sprays, or modest and almost imper- 
ceptible flower-buds form the avant-couriers of the 
spring graces of the elms. Yet in spite of the 
blustering lunacy of this natal month, the Exhibition 
is getting on bravely. Let us take a retrospective 
view, like Milton of the dawning earth, and briefly 
chronicle its first estate. It is springing out of the 
ground, like the beasts when first created, and if 
they were all made at once and on the same spot, 
they would have hardly found a more heterogeneous 
and incongruous menagerie, than that now develop- 
ing itself in the Champ de Mars. Pain and wind, 
mud and water, offer no obstacle worthy of consid- 
eration, when opposed to the imperial will. The ir- 
repressible navvy bursts forth on every side, like 
the swarm of Milton's bees on " their straw-built 



NICE TO PARIS. 259 

citadel," and picks, and pounds, and pegs away, with 
an industry that would have excited the admiration 
of Dr. Watts, and which it is a pity he is not here 
to chronicle. Night and day they never cease, while 
their " sore task does not divide the Sunday from 
the week." The rain runs down their backs, and 
makes a reservoir of each pocket and shoe, but still 
on they battle, and their efforts will make the Expo- 
sition a success. Already the people, w^ho are now 
deprived of the privilege of admission at a fr-anc a 
head, which until lately they have enjoyed, cluster 
round the gates of entrance, like the women at the 
doors of the Mohammedan Paradise, to snatch such 
transient glimpses as they may of the glories within. 
The hadauds of Paris, " minims of Nature," who 
wander up and down, to seek a dinner through the 
town, or like the wife of Bath, " to see, be seen, 
to tell and gather tales ; " incapables in search of a 
situation ; strangers, with a quantity of time on their 
hands, which they have no means of washing off; 
and a hundred other classes of idlers, gather and 
clino; here like the ill-fated flies on a " catch 'em 
alive, O ! " and elbow each other, tread on their 
neighbors' boots, and distribute general and viva- 
cious discomfort all round in pretty much the same 
style. Gapers are they, and mere ballast to fill the 
chinks in the great ship of state, and yet they all 
aid in keeping up the excitement. 

We are now just on the verge of the great event 
of the season, and yet an unprejudiced spectator 



260 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

can hardly imagine how any degree of order is to 
be brought, within forty-eight hours, out of the huge 
confusion that now predominates at the Champ de 
Mars. The general aspect is what I take to have 
been that of the cemetery at Gettysburg after the 
battle. The present condition of the Roman forum, 
or the moon's surface as seen through the Cam- 
bridge telescope, is a mere bagatelle in comparison. 
Of course, this is caused by driving every operation 
up to the highest possible degree of impetus at the 
last moment. Around the principal entrance is a 
general maelstrom, and enormous carts, locomotives, 
carriages, heaps of paving-stones, vast timbers, scaf- 
foldings, iron railings, piles of gravel, gendarmerie 
in cocked hats, swelling officials, lofty dignitaries on 
horseback, loungers military and civil, all go whirling 
round and round, distracted and distracting. In 
front, the bridge of Jena extends across the Seine. 
All the stones, both in the centre and on the side- 
walk, have been taken up in order to repave it for 
the Emperor's passage at the coming ceremonial. 
Its appearance now suggests the condition to which 
the Prussians wished to reduce it, when the allied 
armies had entered Paris, though the Duke of Wel- 
lington saved it for this day. Beyond it rise the 
slopes of the new and magnificent square, just laid 
out on the site of the Trocadero and styled the 
Place du Roi de Rome. This they are just clear- 
ing from the accumulated heaps of rubbish, the off- 
spring of the late excavations and mining explosions. 



NICE TO PARIS. 261 

Around the Champ de Mars tlie streets are all be- 
ing repaved and regraded, and here general confii- 
sion reigns supreme. From the entrance of the 
Park to the door of the great preposterous oval it- 
self, a superb canopy has been nearly completed for 
the Emperor's entree. It overhangs a broad ave- 
nue about 600 feet long, and is supported by tall 
masts of green and gold. These are crowned with 
crimson tassels and gilt spear-heads. The cloth 
forming the awning is of green, liberally sprinkled 
with gold bees, — the colors being those of the im- 
perial livery, — and looped up at regular intervals 
by golden cords. From the top of each mast hangs 
a brilliant pennant, while on either side of the en- 
trance, and terminating each line, is a still more 
lofty pole, capped with the imperial coat of arms 
and the eade of France. The effect of this is both 
rich and pleasing, and forms an imposing adjunct 
to the approaching splendors. 

They have already begun to place the streamers 
on the various masts, large and small, that rise from 
the outer edge of the great building. This adorn- 
ment is greatly needed, and will add immensely to 
the effect of the edifice, for it is now heavy and un- 
couth to the last degree, the very Dagon of buildings, 
and its dingy coloring increases its ugliness. It con- 
sists of five ovals with a common centre, which is oc- 
cupied as a garden, and reminds one of those eggs 
which Shanghai hens elaborated in the days of the 
fowl mania ; when, not having laid anything during 



262 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

the week, they used to deposit the whole deficit one 
within another on Sundays, as a peace-ofFering to 
outraged and indignant nature. Around the edifice 
is an architectural melange^ calculated to excite the 
intense admiration of all the groundlings, while it 
would probably have driven mad Michel Angelo 
or Sir Christopher Wren. On a rocky promontory 
in the midst of a sheet of water, each arranged ex- 
pressly for this purpose, stands a light-house a hun- 
dred feet high. It is not made of plaster and painted 
shingles, but is the real beacon of iron, which is, af- 
ter the end of the Exhibition, to be erected at some 
point on the French coast, to show all the world the 
way to Paris. Opposite this is a handsome Gothic 
church moderate in size, built substantially of stone, 
with windows of colored glass, and altogether having 
the air of intending to stay there for a thousand 
years. A short distance beyond is the model of a 
new laundry on a large scale, designed to regenerate 
all the Uanchisseuses of France, so comprehensive is 
its object. Let us hope it may succeed. A little 
to the left is a militar}^ bakery, where crumpets d 
la gloire frangaise are to be cooked and dispensed 
during the Exhibition. To the right is a stunning 
windmill with a huge brick tower, and beyond is a 
building consecrated to 'ElectTO-metalliirgie^ probably 
some new French deity like the image that Neb- 
uchadnezzar, the king, set up for all the world to fall 
down and worship. The strange and unfamiliar 
forms peering out of the obscurity, or at times 



NICE TO PARIS. 263 

standing in the fiill blaze of light, are most peculiar. 
Egyptian temples and sphinxes, summer-houses and 
rustic bridges, rushing water and bronze statues, 
gloomily grand in the dimness ; the palace of the 
Bey of Tunis at the side of a cracker-bakery from 
Boston ; the enormous copper dome of the new 
opera house next to the building of the missionary 
society of the Church of England ; a gigantic filter- 
ing machine in friendly rivalry with a towering 
column crowned with an angel ; bronze lions and 
lofty light-houses ; a row of peasants' cottages from 
Russia in pleasing harmony with a school-house 
from Chicago, both of nice white pine, — these are 
some of the peculiar contrasts offered to the visitor, 
and they are certainly unique ; they are especially 
so at night, when they are scattered about in great 
mysterious masses of light and shade, and the eye 
embracing only a small portion at a time Is thus 
unable to prepare itself for the different phases of 
this strange panorama, as it peeps out at every turn 
of the various meandering paths. From every di- 
rection, of course, appears the great edifice itself; 
the upper part a massive wall of iron, far-reaching 
till Its curve vanishes on either hand in the distance, 
and at its summit shutting out the stars like the 
earth's horizon ; the lower defined by an Intermin- 
able line of large glittering glass globes, pendent, 
as if " by subtle magic." 

The Park Is acquiring a great degree of beauty, 
and that really artistic and tasteful. The water has 



264 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

not yet been let on, to be sure, and the meandering 
streams and picturesque lakes stand out in all tlieir 
barren nakedness. The craggy rock-work seems 
to scowl at the empty basins beneath it, black and 
covered with bitumen, and even the light-house 
looks indignant, as thouo;h it felt itself to be out of 
its element, rising, as it does, from a crag, obviously 
artificial, and with base humankind, navvies, and 
such, digging around it, where they ought not to be, 
if it had its rights. The rest of the Park scenery, 
and especially in the reserved garden, however, is 
making magnificent progress. The green turf slopes 
and spreads luxuriantly in every direction. Clumps 
of trees and shrubs, of all ages and sizes, have been 
carefully transplanted with their roots undipped, 
and arranged in the most attractive forms. On the 
shores of the ponds and streams, springing from 
nooks and crannies in the rock-work, lining the 
curves of circling paths with the thickness of their 
dense foliage and already gay flowers, holly and 
arbor-vit^e, rhododendrons and magnolias, and hun- 
dreds of others are everywhere conspicuous, adding 
the resistless charms of Nature to the grosser handi- 
work of man. This is invariably one great merit 
of every French exhibition, that they never think it 
to be complete, unless they increase its charms by 
the employment of all the attractions which they can 
obtain from the vegetable world. And their taste in 
the arrangement of trees and flowers is so universally 
acknowledged, that every one yields to it without 



NICE TO PARIS 265 

dispute. Even a cattle-show is adorned witli tlie 
elegance and taste of a ball-room, and the very ani- 
mals seem to be elevated into a sort of human 
aspect by one's sympathy with their surroundings. 
Thus much does the retrospective eye perceive on 
this 28th day of March, 1867. Who can tell what 
shall befall ? The newspaporial Cassandra of that 
day felt constrained to prophesy, and confided ink 
to paper in the following characters. Let my read- 
ers decide for themselves how far they have proved 
true. 

" Grand as is this whole project, however, in its 
original inception, and magnificent as were the pre- 
tensions to rejuvenate and reform all humanity set 
forth in the bulletins that announced it to the w^orld, 
these seem to be to a certain extent shorn of their 
proportions, as the reality begins to dawn out of the 
fog and verbiage that always nowadays precede 
great undertakings. There is much now apj^tarent 
which is quite obviously ' of the earth, earthy,' and 
totally inconsistent with the broad and magnani- 
mous plans laid down in the Napoleonic programme. 
The Imperial Commission have shown but little 
tendency toward liberality in money matters, and 
in fact have demeaned themselves like perfect Shy- 
locks in this respect. Many people who have been 
drawn into this great French whirlpool, and are 
now swimming round and round in hopeless confu- 
sion, vainly attempting to extricate themselves with 
profit or advantage, are indignant. They do not 



266 TEE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

hesitate, in short, to denounce the whole thing as a 
vast job, conceived in rapacity and brought forth in 
avarice ; that instead of amehorating the entire hu- 
man race from Nova Zembla to Patagonia, it will 
only, as it now would seem to have been originally 
designed, bring money into the national coffers, fill 
the pockets of the grasping Parisians, and demoral- 
ize the exhibitors. It now appears that nothing is 
to be had for nothing. I do not speak of various 
petty meannesses : such as compelling the exlubitors 
to pay for their privileges ; farming out everything 
in the building, even the chairs and tables, at so 
much per head ; granting all the advertising to con- 
tractors at enormous profits, or of their illiberality 
towards the press, but I will merely specify one 
instance. My readers may have heard of a grand 
and stupendous club, or Cercle National^ in the 
Champ de Mars^ which the Imperial Commission, in 
the greatness of their magnanimity, had provided 
for the use of the commissioners and exhibitors from 
other countries. In this philanthropic edifice men 
were to concentrate from the ends of the earth, and 
argue, expatiate, and confer upon all sorts of plans 
for the advantage of the race ; China was to shake 
hands with Peru ; Japan, oblivious of the woes of 
her first ambassadors at the hands of the New 
Yorkers, was to kow-tow to America ; and London 
bulls and bears were to discuss political economy 
and financial reforms with Australian kangaroos 
and Egyptian crocodiles. Such an imperial love- 



NICE TO PARIS. 267 

feast and huo-e mosaic of terrestrial beneficence was 
this to be. It now appears that the Imperial Com- 
mission saw through and beyond all this, and de- 
signed the whole thing under a sort of greedy hy- 
pothesis as to future gains. One hundred francs is 
the price now demanded for taking an effective part 
in this world's display of love and good will, this 
universal fraternization of conflicting interests, this 
polyglot Babel of mutual philantliropy. Perhaps 
the spectacle will be worth it, perhaps it won't, but 
now the prospect looks cranky. There has been in 
past times some pretty tall swearing on and around 
the Chamjj de 3Iars, notably in the year 1790, when 
400,000 Frenchmen, under the delusion that they 
had secured a permanent Constitution, capered here 
and there, each showering upon the other a tender 
and piquant "/e lejure^^ sandwiched between two 
kisses of peace, as if they had been bitten by a 
swearino; tarantula, and the Star of Bethlehem 
seemed about to send down its beneficent rays 
again ; but all this was nothing to the swearing 
which can be heard in that vicinity nowadays. 
Is this prophetic of a repetition of the old perform- 
ance ? In 1790 everything was shiny, like Mr. 
Pecksniff's forehead, with the prospect of peace, 
from Boulogne to Marseilles ; and yet in spite of 
their fraternal oaths, within a year they were cut- 
tino; each other's throats in every direction. Swear- 
ing don't amount to much in the end, and it is more 
profitable to keep the third commandment inviolate. 



268 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

Though one hears a deal of it in Anglo-Saxondom, 
and Figaro says, ' Avec God-dam, e7i Ayigleterre, on 
ne manque de rien nulle j^art,^ yet there is a heahhy 
doubt in certain quarters as to its profit. With all 
thy gettings get wisdom, but it is n't ' got with 
swearing,' like Prince Hal's purse of gold. At this 
moment, while the buss of peace is perambulating 
this city, and all the world are preparing to sing 
Hallelujah in fifty different languages, outside the 
sacred precincts, they are beginning to cry, ' To 
your tents, O Israel ! ' and all over Europe the na- 
tions are manufacturing needle-guns and every other 
means for shortening the lives of the surplus popu- 
lation that human ingenuity can devise. Since 1851 
we have had six or seven great exhibitions and as 
many wars, and people very naturally begin to ask 
whether they stand to each other in the relation of 
cause and effect. Many express a hope that this 
will be the last, the more so that it appears to be 
the forerunner of a general European military del- 
uge. ' Quousque tandem, Catilina ! ' 

" The Temple of Janus is never closed nowadays. 
Its doors always stand ajar to let Mars creep out. 
The god looks on with forward and reverted eyes, 
and adapts himself to circumstances. In one hand 
he holds a gushing cornucopia, in the other the vial 
of the seventh angel, and he shakes the last with as 
much aplofnh as the first, just as of old. Mr. Fac- 
ing-both-ways has not yet reached the Heavenly 
City, and let the earth have peace or war, is still 



NICE TO PARIS. 269 

looking out. The world is yet a very Caliban, ' a 
most delicate monster,' with two voices. His for- 
ward voice is to chant Meliboean bucolics and o;eor- 
gics never so babbling o' green fields ; his backward 
voice is to sound a fierce strain of arma virumque 
and renovare dolorem. This seems the inevitable 
fite of man. Emperors may proclaim ' L' empire., 
cest la paix ; ' but matter-of-fact History, carefully 
recording the suggestive words, has written against 
them in the margin, with many dubious shakes of 
the head, Sebastopol, Solferino, Mexico, and other 
equally pregnant comments. There will probably be 
more to come. This, I suppose, however, is the state 
of man, and we must strive therewith to be con- 
tent. ' Whatsoever is sold in the shambles, that 
eat, asking no questions for conscience' sake.' To- 
day we play with mammets and tilt with lips ; to- 
morrow we must have bloody noses and cracked 
crowns. To-day Ave flirt w^ith foreign commissioners 
with much lofty fol-de-rcl, profound salaaming, and 
distinguished consideration ; to-morrow, after a little 
diplomatic telegraphing and hypocrisy of skirmish- 
ing, we pick out a suitable spot, meet thereon, con 
anything but amove., slaughter, gash, and butcher 
each other like Mohawks and gladiators, from morn 
to noon, from noon to dewy eve, with shouts that 
tear hell's concave. It is not much more than ten 
years since the English broadbrims sent their con- 
densed wisdom to the Emperor of all the Russias, 
and they were introduced to ' my wife,' amid much 
soft melodious tweedledeeing and swearing of the 



270 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

high contracting parties that there should be war no 
more. And here again, what did this imperial and 
promising juramentum amount to ? On his part it 
was a morganatic arrangement altogether, and the 
consequences thereof have never been acknowl- 
edged. It was taken with a reservation to be sub- 
sequently extended. Nicholas knew as well as an- 
cient Pistol that ' oaths are straws, men's faiths are 
wafer-cakes, and holdfast is the only dog, my duck.' 
And if he didn't hold fast, as Cerberus himself, no 
one ever did. I may perhaps be mistaken, and the 
world may smce that time merely have been settling 
a few outstanding differences preparatory to gravi- 
tating into a universal millennium, but I have my 
doubts. At this moment, though one sui'vey the 
whole political horizon never so carefiilly, he cannot 
distinguish a single locality where the lion and the 
lamb are likely to lie down together. ' Let us hope 
for the best,' is a very useful platitude, and quite a 
convenient relief for one who has no other response 
to make. It certainly is not likely to grow rusty 
from want of use. Everybody can say it now with 
a certain relief, and then relapse into apathetic 
fatalism, although not without tremor, in face of 
the facts that Prussia has now eight hundred thou- 
sand needle-guns, those unfailing argumenta ad homi- 
nem of Count Bismark, and France and the rest of 
Europe over a million more. ' But for these vile 
guns,' there might be a chance of peace ; but one 
can hardly expect that two millions of them will 
long remain idle." 



CHAPTER XIX. 

LA CUISINE RUSSE. 

I DO not know whether all the caterers who are 
in the habit of providing for the public stomach 
have been reading " Mugby Junction," or not, 
but certainly the " refreshmenting department" of 
every nation, as exhibited at the Champ de Mars, 
seems to be a success. It may be personal interest, 
it may be pride, it may be the abundant competition 
that appears in every direction, but the outer circle 
of the Palace, in which all the restaurants are lo- 
cated, the digestive zone of this new world, is ex- 
tremely popular and well patronized. A broad belt 
of eaters and drinkers extends all round the build- 
ing, and here, at almost every hour in the day, from 
ten in the morning till six at night, can be seen any 
number of gayly-dressed, chatty, and, withal, rather 
tired people, drinking beer in various styles, accord- 
ing to tlieir preferences, eating sandwiches or more 
elaborate dishes, and preparing their forces for a fresh 
attack on the great museum around them. Some of 
these establishments are most elegantly and showily 
got up, and the English and Australian restaurants 
really dazzle the eye with then' display of mirrors, 



272 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

paintings, gilding, flags, and glass ware. Others are 
less pretentious, but all manage to have some at- 
traction that secures the public support. In front of 
each is a walk of solid bitumen twenty feet wide. 
Over this is the veranda, or outer roof of glass and 
iron, that surrounds the structure and forms a pro- 
jecting edge of that width. On days decently pleas- 
ant the customers generally prefer to sit outside, 
and plenty of chairs and tables are placed for their 
accommodation. 

Since his arrival in Paris, the Prince of Wales has 
been devoting himself to this department of the Ex- 
hibition with a conscientious thoroughness worthy of 
his father. There are many precedents for this 
course in his family, and in England, as in law, 
everything goes by that. Monday he dined at one 
of the English establishments ; a day or two after he 
meditated over a national beverage in the American 
restaurant ; day before yesterday he breakfiisted for 
two hours in the Russian with the Grand Duchess 
Marie, sister of the Czar ; and yesterday, coming 
to a model house belonging to the Austrian depart- 
ment, I saw a great crowd before it and asked the 
cause ; the reply given was that the Kronprinz of 
Eno-land was feedino- there. These all succeed each 
other in nearly regular order, and it is probable that 
PI. R. H. is desicrnino; to make the round of the 
whole building if he has sufficient time during his 
stay here. While passing our section a short time 
since, I saw the gallant Prince in the act of sucking 



LA CUISINE RUSSE. 273 

the life-blood out of a sheny-cobbler. He looked 
seedy, — blase, " the wise it call," — had the vacant 
and pensive air of an empty pocket, and was doubt- 
less thinking he saw his father, or at least his 
" aunt." I called to mind his heroic predecessor 
before the walls of Harfleur, and made a mental note 
of the change that has taken place since the fifteenth 
century in the royal style of advancing " once more 
unto the breach." Evidently, in spite of his high 
lineage, the beneficent influence of the republican 
institutions of our country was not altogether lost 
upon this promising heir to a limited monarchy, and 
it would not be strange if, under his government, it 
would become more " limited " than ever before. 
The " nest of consecrated cobblers " have added 
another convert to their principles. H. R. H. 
looked as if he felt cordially disposed tow^ards the 
liquid radical ; in fact, warm-blooded animals like 
him often have that sensation. His benignity 
seemed to extend even to " the oaten flute " 
through which the spirit-stirring melody was ab- 
sorbed into his royal system. There was only one 
feeling among our countrymen and countrywomen 
who stood admiringly around while he thus sacri- 
ficed himself on the altar of freedom ; it was " Let me 
kiss him for his mother." Youno; England is much 
more portly than when in America, and both in shape 
and features grows every day more and more like 
his ancestral Georges. He is spending a fortnight 
here to recruit his health, which has been somewhat 

18 



274 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

shattered by Ins unwearied devotion to his sick wife. 
If princes will persist in watching whole nights at 
the bedside of their consorts, and assiduously prepar- 
ing the necessary medicines, they must expect the 
same results that follow when less exalted husbands 
do the same thing, — that is, when they do. 

This part of the gi'eat X. is very much like the 
zodiac ; and we rove from one sign to another, 
like the sun stopping for a period of considerable 
length with Taurus, who is old and tough, dallying 
with Pisces merely because etiquette requires it, 
and devoting the smallest possible point of time to 
Aquarius, whose effects here in Paris are fearful, 
putting the whole internal economy into a state of 
dissolution, as every foreigner who has been here 
knows. It is in the English department, whose 
long range embraces Leo, Virgo, and Sagittarius, 
that the visitor finds the greatest obliquity in his 
ecliptic. Here are the strongest liquors, and the 
most fascinating Hebes to dispense them, that are 
to be met with in the Champ de 3Iars., or eke that 
of Venus. I dare say the heir apparent, like Bar- 
dolph of old, here discovered, though not for the 
first time, if report be true, that he could be " bet- 
ter accommodated than with a wife." Men of his 
stamp, very much devoted to Virgo, generally look 
upon "heaven's last best gift," as nous autres re- 
gard the last work of Mr. Tupper, and put far from 
them the evil day. One may easily imagine with 
what fervor the Prince, on leaving his island home 



LA CUISINE RUSSE. ^ 275 

for a raid across the channel, exclaimed, like Ulys- 
ses, — 

" Dear are tlie last embraces of our wives." 

Unhappily, Penelope is expecting his return, wait- 
ing, waiting, waiting, longing, longing, longing, and 
the dire mother sits in the background quoting 
moral texts from Susannah and the Seniors, looking 
gloomily grand and savagely vexed. Though His 
Royal Highness were to wander beyond " the baths 
of all the western stars," yet cruel fate will bring 
him back even from the Islands of the Blest. 

One of the most attractive of the restaurants is 
that which comes from the dominions of the Ozar. 
This, though small, in fact the smallest of all the 
Russian possessions here or elsewhere, is crowded 
from morning till night. Its position is not very 
favorable, for it is overshadowed by contiguous 
buildings, and consequently gloomy; yet there is 
always a throng in front of it, composed partly of 
people who can't get in, and partly of those who stop 
to stare through the windows merely from curiosity. 
It is arranged in a thoroughly Russian style, and 
the waiters are not Frenchmen artificially got up in 
fancy ball costumes to delude the uninitiated, but 
genuine Musjiks from St. Petersburg. They wear 
ft-ocks, or rather blouses, of silk, reaching to the 
knee, and trousers, apparently of thick mushn. 
The former are buttoned close around the neck, and 
of a bright orange, blue, or crimson hue, and the lat- 
ter always white. At the comptoir near the head 



/ 
276 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

of the room, presiding over the cups, saucers, and 
other " small deer " of the establishment, is a young 
woman from Moscow. She has full, ruddy, and 
quite regular features, and is really very good look- 
ing. Her head is ornamented with a tiara, or ban- 
deau^ tied behind with a wide red ribbon reaching 
nearly to the ground. This is made to all appear- 
ance of a broad band of pearls, with a row of eme- 
ralds and rubies in the centre. They are so large 
and bright, however, that one may easily doubt 
their genuineness. Besides this decoration she 
wears a white chemisette, a tight-fitting blue bod- 
ice and a full red skirt with a great cataract of blue 
ribbon dashinor down over it. With these fascina- 
tions, as might be expected, she being the only Eve 
in this Paradise, there is always a multitude at the 
window nearest her, some flattening their noses 
against the panes, and others eagerly assisting these 
flat-noses from behind. Inside, every table is full, 
and the gargons move quietly to and fro in a sort of 
placid, machine-like way, as if they were never 
disturbed at anything. One of these, in an orange 
colored tunic, — I attempted, by the way, to obtain 
the name of this gorgeous garment, but the waiter 
gave me a word so rich in consonants and so poor 
in vowels, so Welsh in its general structure and so 
utterly incomprehensible altogether, that I will not 
weary the patience of my readers, or display my 
o\NTi ignorance, by trying to repeat it, — in short, not 
to make shipwreck of myself in a tornado of words, 



LA CUISINE RUSSE. 277 

the waiter endowed with this Hnguistic monstros- 
ity attracts nearly as much attention as the young 
lady, for he also is from Moscow, and extremely 
handsome, while his regular features and black hair 
are well set off by his orange colored dress. By a 
masterly display of strategy and shrewdness, this 
young fellow is invariably assigned to the lady vis- 
itors, and they run up the most extravagant bills 
for their husbands and others to pay, while they sit 
and watch this Muscovite oriole flit hither and 
thither. 

Here one can order all sorts of new and barbaric 
dishes, though few can eat them. Having never 
happened to taste of caviare, and being troubled 
with a Shakespearean weakness for knowing the full 
meaning of " caviare to the general," I made my 
first essay on this. The mere sight of it gave me a 
pretty strong impression of what it would be likely to 
signify to " the general," and one taste carried sub- 
stantial conviction. It looked like a slice of whale-oil 
soap, and its odor and flavor were very similar to 
that ; and while the waiter gave me a short disquisi- 
tion on its merits, especially of that kind before me, 
— which he said, with the enthusiasm of an amateur 
who had given his whole mind to the subject, was 
not fresh and green, but more piquant in its taste 
and prononce in its odor, as it had been kept a long 
time, — I listened with very much the feelings of 
the guests at " the entertainment in the manner of 
the ancients," as set forth in '' Peregrine Pickle," 



278 THE GREAT EXHIBITION 

when they were called upon to partake of a pie of 
dormice "vvath syrup of poppies. If I did not ex- 
claim with Pallet, " Lord in heaven ! what beastly 
fellows these Russians are ! " it was out of regard 
to the waiter and his eloquent description of the 
merits of the dish. After the first convulsions had 
ceased to vibrate, and as soon as I could speak, I 
told him that " I-I-I di-di-didn't 1-like it-t-t." He 
then acknowledged in the blandest way that it was 
an acquired taste, like that of tobacco, but when 
once that difficulty was got over it was deHcious. 
" And is n't it necessary to acquire another stom- 
ach in order to dispose of it ? " I asked. " No, not 
precisely, though it is rather stiff for dyspeptics. 
The Russians generally take a glass of brandy with 
each mouthful. Won't you have a drop ? " said he, 
considerately, seeing that the morsel I had taken 
was still working upon me. " No, thank you," said 
I ; " I know what Russian caviare is, but I don't 
know what your brandy is. It might do me harm, 
for if it should prove to be sulphuric acid, or some 
other liquid akin to that, for which I have not ac- 
quired a taste, it might disconcert me, so that I 
could take no part in that Russian alliance for which 
all my nation are so eager." I said this with a pro- 
found bow, and thus mollified my entertainer. I 
I'equested to know the price of this savory dainty 
which lay before me. He replied two francs, and 
I was well satisfied, for I was not obliged to eat the 
rest of the caviare, and thus saved my life for a 
mere song. 



LA CUISINE RUSSE. 279 

After the tragedy had passed, I turned my atten- 
tion to the tea. For this herb I have always had a 
great veneration, and especially that from Kussia. 
Years and years ago the Souchong that Baron Bo- 
disco, then Russian Minister at Washington, used 
to provide for his guests, was a blessing to the pal- 
ate, as I have heard people older than myself say. 
And there was life in it, too ; for did he not marry 
a young lady of that city, when he was eighty-five 
years of age ? He always took his tea with a slice 
of lemon in the cup, and perhaps that was the cause 
of his vigorous old age. Anyhow, it is the Russian 
fashion, and I ran the risk and ordered my tea in 
the same style. It was brought me in a tumbler, 
with two lumps of sugar and a spoon. As I began 
to stir, I was conscious of a cloud over my right 
shoulder ; I turned and saw no less than five per- 
sons looking on through the window that was close 
to my chair, and many others were dimly visible in 
the background. They were evidently curious to 
see what I was about to do. Tea, in the abstract, 
is emphatically " caviare to the general " in Paris, 
and I never saw a Frenchman drink it. They all 
regard it as '' great medicine ; " somewhat in fact 
as we look upon senna or rhubarb, and take it only 
upon compulsion. Thus, under ordinary circum- 
stances, it is regarded with interest as something 
rare. But when it is served in a tumbler, with a 
slice of lemon, and a bit of something that looks 
suspiciously like moon-calf lying by the side of it, 



280 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

they may well be excused for indulging their curi- 
osity irrepressibly. > I thought it might not be a bad 
plan to gratify them. So, after a few preliminary sips 
from the lemonade tea, and not finding it to my taste, 
as I had become demoralized by the caviare, I took 
a little pepper from the castor and insinuated it 
under the slice of lemon that lay floating on the top 
of the cup. The spectators looked at each other 
with undisguised wonder, and this was increased 
when I sent a little salt after the pepper, and delib- 
erately stirred them round and round, as if I were 
M. Bk)t, concocting a new dish. In a few moments 
I cut off a thin slice of the caviare, and putting a 
soupgon of mustard upon it, dropped it carefully 
into the tea, and then raised a spoonful to my lips 
as if in act to taste. Before doing it, however, I 
turned and found my view entirely unobstructed. 
The crowd had suddenly concluded not to await the 
result of the movement, but had disappeared, like 
the chorus in a Greek tragedy, during the mur- 
der. I had " broke the good meeting with most 
admired disorder;" and, upon reflection, was not 
much surprised at it. Man is a creature of habit, 
after all, and it is not the first time that " incongru- 
ity of temperament " has caused a divorce. Being 
on the other side of the window, I could not hear 
wdiat they said when they disentangled themselves 
so abruptly, but I don't doubt, from their conduct, 
that they gave vent to some such hasty and irrev- 
erent exclamation as that of Pallet, which I quoted 



LA CUISINE RUSSE. 281 

above. This was natural, for they knew nothing 
about making tea, and of course the first sight 
of it would be novel, and, to say the least, unat- 
tractive. 

In that gay and brilliant essay in the " Rambler " 
against " gulosity," the moralist of the cuisine prat- 
tles in this lively way : " To riot in far-fetched 
dishes, or surfeit with unexhausted variety, and yet 
practice the most rigid economy, is surely an art 
which may justly draw the eyes of mankind upon 
those wdiose industry, or judgment, has enabled 
them to attain it." This is an obvious truth, and 
one of which the Great Exhibition unfortunately 
offers but few examples, and least of all in the Rus- 
sian department. When Diogenes was asked what 
kind of wine he liked best, he answered, " That 
which is drunk at the cost of others." If this 
philosopher had resorted to the Muscovite restau- 
rant to quench his thirst, he would have been likely 
to go away dry, for, as Monsieur Ratinois remarked, 
" C^est sale^ dans ce theatre-la! " The prices are 
frightful, and the grasping proprietor allows no one 
to depart unplucked. I am not surprised to hear 
that he receives over 3000 francs per day, and will 
make his fortune before the end of the summer. 
The crowd of its frequenters daily increases, and is 
limited only by the capacity of its rooms. The 
waiters are all Musjiks of the same class with Kom- 
issaroff, who, a year ago, saved the life of the Em- 
peror Alexander, Since the first days of the es- 



282 THE GREAT EXEIBITIO}^. 

tablishment tliere has been a gradual but steady ap- 
proach on the part of its habitues towards Russian 
customs, and the same is noticeable in its staff of 
employes in their gravitation towards Paris. The 
style of Madam's dress, as she presides over the tea- 
cups, is much more decollete than at the opening of 
her career, and the waiters now season their chaotic 
.lingo with a few French comfits. On the contrary, 
the Parisians and others, anxious to meet them half 
way in civility, quite frequently call for " stacuft 
cTiie^^^ — the Russian for a cup of tea, this being the 
great attraction of the place, — and what is more, 
the waiters often understand them, which does great 
credit to their smartness. The French at times 
take this drink with considerable composure, but 
they always remind me of Socrates swallowing the 
hemlock. They have not yet got so far as the slice 
of lemon, though, and when asked, " Vbulez-vous du 
citroyif^ invariably reply, " No," as a slight shudder 
ripples over them. Yesterday, entering at an un- 
usual hour, I surprised a Miisjik in a corner absorb- 
ing his " mild Souchong " in his own style, and just 
as everybody drinks it at home. He had before him 
a large glass of the liquid, with the inevitable lemon 
floating on its surface, and a spoon for an aide-de- 
camp^ — this latter custom, by the way, is not by any 
means confined to Russia, — and one flank was pro- 
tected by a little rampart of blocks of sugar. He 
raised the tumbler and took a swallow, but ere the 
taste had left his palate, he seized one lump of sugar, 



LA CUISINE RUSSE. 283 

and biting off a piece sent it after tlie hot tea, as if it 
were " the sovereimi'st thino; on earth " for an mward 
bruise of that description. And after a moment's 
pause, he went on in this style till I left him, when 
he was drawino; out the same linked sweetness in a 
sort of abstraction that I had n't the heart to inter- 
rupt. 

Everything is multiplied in this cafe by the mir- 
rors that surround it on every side. If it were not for 
the looking-glasses that line the room from floor to 
ceiling, nobody could aff"ord to pay the atrocious 
prices that are asked. As it is, when I order a 
glass of alascJi, — a favorite liqueur in Russia, — a 
hundred waiters come towards me from as many 
different directions ; as they leave to get it, they 
quickly become a thousand, and before they disap- 
pear, they are at least a million, all in scarlet or 
orange tunics, like the army of Nadir Shah. When 
they return, they all converge to one focus, with a 
rapidity and accuracy that I fear must certainly an- 
nihilate me on the spot. The beverage they bring 
would fill Capt. Symmes's hole, and form a new 
polar current besides from its overflow. This is the 
way we get the worth of our money. I sit down 
in the centre of an infinite kaleidoscope of purple 
and orange, red and blue, and I see every one about 
m? at least a thousand times. My next neighbor 
is apparent in a thousand forms, and takes any 
shape but that which belongs to him. Looking at 
the opposite side of the somewhat narrow apart- 



284 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

ment, I see an indefinite perspective of his right 
side and profile ; over my shoulder I find him mul- 
tiplied into the file of a numberless host, whose left 
faces are perfectly distinct till they gradually fade 
away. It made me shudder to think of my respon- 
sibility to love so much neighbor as myself. And 
then again it was awful to reflect that I must love 
myself so hugely. While he was eating his dinner, 
he actually had more hands than Briareus, and more 
eyes than Argus. When he rose to go, he disap- 
peared in so many directions that my brain reeled. 
Really the population of this little room seems as 
great as the number of the children of Israel, ac- 
cording to Dr. Malthus, or the inhabitants of Pan- 
demonium, based on an estimate by Dr. Lyman 
Beecher. Every person is attended by rows of 
dittos, as innumerable as the nails in a horse's shoe 
geometrically reckoned up. It reminds me of the 
dreams of the " hasheesh eater," wherein the sound 
of a falling pin is magnified into the sturdy and 
resistless tramp of a mighty army ; and a single 
hot tear, the overflow of a fevered brain, becomes a 
Kiagara of fiery lava, rushing on with impetuous 
and resistless force, till it broadens into a burning 
ocean, where all idea of space and time is lost, and 
wdiose raging billows, like stalactites of flame, mount 
to meet lurid clouds, gorged to bursting with inner 
fires. 

This Russian restaurant is an admirable place for 
an after-dinner reverie, with a glass of alasch cours- 



LA CUISINE RUSSE. 285 

ing througli one's veins, like liquid fire. One can 
easily forget his more immediate surroundings of 
epicurean eaters and drinkers, and taking his queue 
— the one for example at the end of which he is 
seated — from his situation, pass away to "climes 
beyond the solar road." But I doubt if it be good 
for the digestion to eat Muscovite concoctions, or to 
drink alasch. It is piquant, picturesque, and entic- 
ing, but prolific of visions. 



CHAPTER XX. 

THE FIRST NAPOLEON. 

It might well have been expected that the great 
name of Napoleon would occupy a prominent place 
at the Exhibition of 1867, both from its connection 
with the glories of France in days now past, and 
from the position of the present Emperor. It has 
so proved. Not only in many other localities, but 
especially in the French department of the Fine 
Arts, we meet with numberless reminders, both of 
the mighty dead, and of him upon whom history 
has not yet passed her sentence. The name and 
deeds of each have inspired many a brush, and from 
the Pyramids and Borodino, to Solferino and the 
Malakoff, the victories of their reigns, portrayed on 
many a canvas, intimate to the world the lasting 
fame of the humble Corsican and his successor. 
And this is no less apparent in the form of more 
enduring marble and bronze. There are numerous 
busts and statues of the first Napoleon and Jose- 
phine, as well as the reigning sovereign and his 
son, while medallions and medals of exquisite work- 
manship, many of them from the mint at the Hotel 
des 3Ionnaies, add their share to the general tribute. 



THE FIRST NAPOLEON. 287 

One of the most interesting and striking of all these, 
is a figure of the Prince Imperial. It is in silvered 
bronze and of the size of life. It was done a year 
ago for the Emperor, and is the work of M. Car- 
peaux, an eminent French sculptor, who deserves 
great credit for the skillful manner in which he has 
acquitted himself of his commission. The young 
Prince is standing with his right arm slightly raised, 
and dressed in the ordinary suit that he wears in 
private. His left arm is thrown over the neck of 
his favorite dog, Nero, whose chin rests in a confid- 
ing way upon his master's breast, while his eyes are 
turned towards his face. This is a faithful portrait 
of one of a brace of beautiful pointers, that were 
presented to the Prince by an English gentleman 
two years ago, and with which he is sometimes seen 
in public. The form of the Prince is both strildng 
and artistic. It is full of fife, and the attitude nat- 
ural and spirited. The countenance is a great suc- 
cess, and the artist, without sacrificing truth to 
flattery, has managed to give it a certain ideal 
expression, which is correct in its lineaments, while 
it shows both character and elevation. It displays 
a somewhat greater degree of maturity and manli- 
ness than was visible when the model was made, 
or than can be seen now ; but the cleverness of the 
sculptor and his thorough knowledge of the Napo- 
leonic type of face are obvious from the fact, that 
the bust of the figure is a better portrait now than 
when first taken. An additional effect is noticea- 



288 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

ble in consequence of the silver tint of the group, 
which contributes greatly to the lightness and ani- 
mation of the face and limbs. It is to be found 
amons the exhibits of tlie well-known firm of Chris- 
tofle & Company, who have a most brilliant and 
imposing show of bronzes, figures in galvano-plas- 
ter, dessert-services In gilded silver, and other arti- 
cles of elegant and elaborate design. This statue 
of the Prince Imperial is very attractive, not merely 
fi'om its subject and the artistic merits that are so 
conspicuous, but from the style in which it is pre- 
sented. A handsome boy and dog would be always 
gratifying to the eye and popular with the world. 
When raised somewhat above the ordinary level 
by a clever sculptor, they will ever be admired, 
even by those who have a refined and cultivated 
taste. 

In a larfre court formed by the intersection of the 
picture-gallery with one of the main cross avenues, 
has been placed a statue of Napoleon the First. It 
represents him In his imperial robes, fashioned in 
the style of the Roman toga, and comes from the 
chisel of Gulllaume, who is one of the most eminent 
French artists, a pupil of Pradler, and member of 
the Institute. This figure used to stand in the 
atrium of Prince Napoleon's Pompelan Villa, and 
may have been seen in that place by some of my 
readers. It is a work of ability, and has this pe- 
culiarity In its drapery, that the edge of the toga 
is everywhere finished with a deep border of classic 



THE FIRST NAPOLEON. 289 

design painted a delicate purple, such as the ancient 
Romans were accustomed to use. This feature, 
though in general dubious as a matter of taste, is 
less objectionable as a form of painted stone than 
any other, and caused the statue to harmonize well 
with its luxurious and antique surroundings in the 
original site for which it was designed. The refined 
expression and delicate features of the great Em- 
peror, of course lend their aid to this modern adap- 
tation of classic days, and in this respect he sur- 
passed both all his European contemporaries, as 
well as predecessors on the throne of France. Con- 
trast any one of the numerous statues of the victor 
of Austerlitz with those of Louis XIV., for exam- 
ple, and notice the utter absurdity of the latter. 
Nothing could be more ridiculous than the bass-re- 
lief of Louis on the arch of St. Denis, where that 
monarch is represented in a nude state with a club 
in his hand, and on his head a widely spreading 
amplitude of wig, while above predominates an angel 
who is about to bestow a crown upon this royal and 
victorious Hercules. Over this, and all other sculpt- 
ured follies. Napoleon ever enjoyed innate advan- 
tage, and it is really difficult for an artist to model 
his features so that their own expression shall not 
triumph over any incongruous drapery or position. 

Behind this figure is a bust of Pius Ninth, and 
the walls on either hand are covered with the large 
and magnificent marbles in tarsia-work, modeled 
by Baron Triqueti, and intended for the decoration 

19 



290 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

of the Wolsey chapel at Windsor, which the Queen 
of England has dedicated to the memory of the 
Prince Consort. In these Prince Albert is repre- 
sented as Moses, David, Daniel, and Nathaniel, in 
as many separate tableaux., and this is only the first 
section. It would seem that the Queen, after hav- 
ing erected a monument to her husband on every 
square mile of her empire, now proposes that those 
for which there is no room outside should be placed 
in Windsor Castle. When that is full, it remains to 
be seen what step she will take next. These three 
men are the only ones whose names are suggested 
by the decorations of this apartment, and their con- 
junction ranks among those remarkable eventualities 
which no reader of history, however shrewd, could 
ever venture to foretell. 

In front of the statue of Napoleon are also six 
busts by the same artist. They are arranged three 
on each side of the door, and once held similar posi- 
tions among the household gods that adorned the 
atrium of Prince Napoleon. They present to our 
view the conqueror in as many different eras of his 
strange eventful history. At one glance we see 
the whole panorama of his life, from his early youth 
to his death, and no thoughtful mind can look upon 
them, without being deeply impressed, both by their 
excellence as works of art and the wondrous career 
they recall. The first represents him as a young stu- 
dent at Brienne, impressive, ardent, serious, when 
ambition had not swallowed up the ^^eaker passions, 



THE FIRST NAPOLEON 291 

and there was yet room for love. The next portrays 
him as commander of the army of Italy. Spirited 
and panting for glory, his face lean and wasted with 
the heavy burdens of one so yomig, yet daring all 
things and knowing no obstacle, with eyes peering 
earnestly into the future, as if to pierce the mists 
that obscured it, he seems the very embodiment 
of conscious genius. His long hair floats away 
from his forehead, like clouds from a mountain-top 
that has just passed through a fierce storm. The 
lineaments of his face appear in bold relief, as if 
the soul itself was portrayed in living characters. 
It was thus that the hero of Lodi, — 

*' Cui laurus ieternos honores 
Italico peperit triumpho," — 

stood forth for the admiration of the world, when 
as yet untainted by its grossness and corruptions. 
In the third bust he appears as First Consul, when, 
confirmed in health and power, the soul had, as it 
were, retired into a deeper seclusion, and the prog- 
ress of years had covered up the outlines that once 
suggested only ingenuous purity urged on by youth- 
ful genius and fiery ambition. The form is more 
portly, the cheeks are fuller, as of one who had 
become inspired with confidence in the future. He 
has reached that period of his existence, when his 
aspect first intimates the truth of that which was 
well said of him by an able writer, " Extreme agi- 
tation was the basis of his existence ; motion was 
his repose ; he lived in a hurricane and fattened on 



292 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

anxiety and care." As Emperor, crowned with 
laurel, his cheeks are yet fuller, but the classic hues 
remain the same. The dehcately chiseled nose 
has lost none of its beauty. Calm and serene, as 
if his work were done, he appears a mighty ocean 
at rest. The fifth bust, marked with the fatal 
characters, 1812, shows a forehead somewhat dis- 
turbed, its broad expanse darkened with overhang- 
ing clouds, and ruffled with the first gusts of the 
coming storm. There is a strange unsteady look 
in the eyes, as if they could neither regard the 
past with complacency, nor the future with confi- 
dence ; yet they are still lit with the gleams of hope, 
and the face expresses earnest resolution and cour- 
age never to submit or yield. From this to the last 
we pass over a broad and tempestuous abyss, and 
behold before us the exile of St. Helena, upon the 
shores of the loud resounding sea, adding his lonely 
plaint to the melancholy tale which the waves are 
ever telhno;. Yet even here he is never less than 
archangel ruined ; and the cares of empire, the 
thunders of a hundred battles, and the bitter pros- 
tration of defeat, have but slightly sunk the once 
full cheeks, and that only to mark in stronger lines 
the lineaments of days that are gone. The dreams 
of fresh ambition even now seem to struggle along 
the yet resounding chords, though the touch of the 
master shall no longer awake them to glory again. 
Through the rents that time has made, the soul 
looks forth with somewhat of its old fire and energy. 



THE FIRST NAPOLEON. 293 

" The incessant care and labor of his mind 
Hath wrought the mure that should confine it in 
So thin that life breaks out." 

Intermixed with these hneaments is still a 
deep shade of thoughtful sadness, of serious reflec- 
tion, and doubt as to the great problem as yet 
unsolved, even by his all-powerful genius. There 
is a wistful gaze in the eyes, as -if across the stormy 
main they strove to see the beacon light that marks 
the haven of hope, and could not discern it. And 
thus we stand before the sculptor's creation, and, 
answering glance with glance, also seek to penetrate 
the mystery of the all-hail hereafter. Shall we 
meet the spoiled child of destiny in the courts of 
the Lord as his minister and scourge, an avenging 
angel sent to execute his wrath upon the sons of 
men, or in the caves of vengeance as a mighty and 
successful tyrant, incited merely by human passion 
and lust of power, like a great river, rich with dead 
men's souls, that has borne its weltering freight into 
the broad ocean of eternity; a desolating volcano 
that has vomited forth blighting and curses upon 
mankind, and eaten out the heart of a whole conti- 
nent ? 

La Fontaine has written, as the beginning of one 
of his fables, the often truthful lines — 

" Les grands, pour la plupart, sont masques du theatre, 
Leur apparence impose au vulgaire idolatre." 

To minds of a certain class among the great ones 
of the earth, this applies w^ith emphatic accuracy. 



294 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

Living, as did their author, in the reign of that 
grand monarque who was tlie greatest actor of maj- 
esty that ever hved, and only that, — the most mag- 
nificent sham that ever reigned, who for nearly 
three quarters of a century imposed upon his peo- 
j)le, the world, and himself, till death revealed to 
him and them the truth, — La Fontaine might well 
pen these words with an inward conviction of their 
meaning. But to Napoleon they do not apply. 
He was no princely hypocrite, no whited sepulchre. 
On his countenance genius had signified her pres- 
ence in characters that all might read. There was 
ever in his lineaments from his earliest days some- 
thing which gave the world assurance that he was 
not in the roll of common men. Like Augustus, 
to whom his striking resemblance has been often 
noticed, he was handsome at every period of his life. 
Like Alexander and Cassar, his features offered an 
instructive and suggestive study to artists, not 
merely from the genius of their possessor, but from 
their classic beauty and the grandeur of their ex- 
pression. And these were different at each grada- 
tion of his career. How great is the range from 
the fiery paladin of Lodi to the sad exile of St. 
Helena ! Yet he is ever an illustration of the fact 
that man is made in the image of God. His high 
descent is evidenced, not by a long line of noble 
names, but through finely chiseled nose and lips, a 
Grecian contour, and eyes at which the whole soul 
looked forth with most meaning and irresistible fas- 



THE FIRST NAPOLEON. 295 

cination. And it is not merely artistic flattery that 
has thus handed doAvn to us his form and features, 
but we have every reason to believe they are accu- 
rately given. Not only do contemporary writings 
and other sources of information agree in the 
description they offer, but the engravers, Lebrun 
and Andrieu, have on numerous medals preserved 
his lineaments with a truthfulness and beauty of 
workmanship that leave no uncertainty. Thus his 
aspect has been faithfully preserved in the same 
way that the traits of the Roman Emperors have 
been transmitted to this age. 

The ablest work of sculpture at the Exhibition is 
a sitting statue of Napoleon, representing his last 
days. It is by the Italian artist, Vela, and really 
of much merit. It gives one a higher idea of his 
capacity than anything he has yet done, for his for- 
mer works have not ranked greatly above that 
mediocrity which is so obvious at the present day 
among his countrymen in this branch of art. The 
figure is well appreciated, and constantly surrounded 
by crowds of admirers. It is a sort of merited jus- 
tice that brings from Italy to his capital such a tribute 
to the immortality of the present Emperor's family, 
for Napoleon III. has ever been the most constant 
fi'iend of that country, and from the day when, 
young and chivalrous, he shed his blood for her at 
Forli, to now, he has never spared mind, body, or 
treasure in her behalf. It would have been a court- 
eous and considerate act to present this work to 



296 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

him, but as it is, he has shown his admu-ation of its 
excellence by its purchase. It will eventually find 
its way, in all probability, to the Louvre. The sink- 
ing Emperor is seated upon a chair and supported 
by pillows. His attitude shows the languor of fail- 
hig strength, as when one yields slowly to the 
approach of mortality. On his knees is the map of 
Europe, and his fingers rest on either side of it, as 
if he were even now modeling anew that which he 
had so often changed. The hands, that were once 
so beautiful, and which we are told he often looked 
upon with pride, are extremely well done, and their 
fleshy appearance is most remarkable. The features 
are somewhat shrunken, and the outlines of his 
younger days are clearly seen, though their expres- 
sion is harder and more severe. His eyes are 
deeply sunk, and the forehead overhangs them like 
a precipice. Their gaze is steady and seems to be 
fixed far off upon the coming future, with an inten- 
sity which is extremely life-like and impressive. 
The rich gown, or robe, that he wears, has fallen 
away from his breast and left it bare. One can 
almost see the last faint pulsations of his heart, as 
the tide of life ebbs and flows with the uncertainty 
of decaying strength. In spite of apparent bodily 
weakness, the whole expression of the face is that 
of one who goes forth to meet a powerful enemy 
with firmness and confiding valor ; while the lips 
firmly compressed, and the upper one slightly ele- 
vated and swollen, as if with disdain or pride, 



THE FlRSr NAPOLEON. 297 

strongly add to this and increase its energy. It is 
an Emperor that lies dying before us, and in this 
sculptured image we see the conqueror of Europe 
and the successor of Charlemagne slowly, though 
grandly, yielding to the approach of that mortality 
which none can resist. 

" Dors en paix, doux heros, sage et grand pl^beien, 
Dors, nous te b^nissons ! Le grand homme de bien 
Vit pour tons; quand il meurt. la terre tout enti^re, 
Autant que son pays, devient son heritiere! " 



CHAPTER XXL 

HAM AND HIS FRIENDS. 

As one result of the Great Exhibition, and that 
not by any means insignificant, there is a power- 
ful gathering of the dominant race in Paris, and if 
there were any unanimity in their clans, we might 
suddenly find ourselves in the midst of a new revo- 
lution, and wake up some fine morning to see the 
edifice crowned with an Othello Premier^ or a Tous- 
saint rOuverture Second. At present, however, 
this is not really much dreaded, as Napoleon, for 
the most part, has his wits about him, and probably 
approves of the good old Horatian maxim, Nimium 
ne crede colori, which, by the way, is more than can 
be said of some persons in office in the United 
States. At this moment the city is so full of 
" sooty bosoms," that it would seem that all the 
friends of the sons of Ham had combined to furnish 
a large share of them with those luxm'ious enjoy- 
ments which our fathers married to immortal verse, 
when they sang the spirited quatrain, — 

" Mail wait for me to let you know- 
Pomp get no better wicl his shin ; 
The doctors do devise him go 

Widout delay to Concord spring." 



HAM AND HIS FRIENDS. 299 

They swell round the metropolis of France, as if 
they owned it, like Robinson Crusoe on his island, 
and look upon us groundlings, as if our tameness 
w^as shocking to them. Three days ago there was 
an arrival of Egyptian troops from Mexico. They 
are four hundred in number, and have been aiding 
in the conquest of that country under the flag of 
Maximilian. They are to remain here for the pres- 
ent, and have had quarters allotted them in the 
barracks near the Hotel des Invalides. They will 
await the Viceroy of Egypt, and act as a body- 
guard during his stay here. They are impressive 
specimens of their class, and cause great excitement 
when they appear in the streets. They are mostly 
men of large size and good proportions. Their uni- 
form is a white, close-fitting cotton jacket, with tight 
sleeves, a short petticoat of the same hue and material, 
and a broad crimson sash around the waist. The 
lower garment is bound around their legs by long 
white gaiters. Their heads are covered with a 
white fez with a crimson tassel, wdien on duty ; at 
other times, the cap is of the latter color and the tas- 
sel dark blue. The contrast between this dress and 
their own skins is most striking. They all look as 
if they had been hewn out of the " gross darkness 
that might be felt ; " and if Nature had exhausted 
tiie contents of all her soot-pots, she could not have 
made them blacker. If they were caught out in a 
shower of ink, every drop would show on them like 
a chalk-mark. At night they have the appearance 



800 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

of ghosts without heads. The ball of the eye is so 
large and dark, that it entirely conceals the rest of 
it ; and if the order to their enemies was not to fire 
till they saw the whites of them, these Abyssinian 
Tiircos would have ver}^ little need of powder to 
secure the victory in any engagement. 

In addition to those, in a few days there will be 
an arrival of a hundred negroes from Senegambia. 
They belong to the first nobility of that happy 
region, as the French papers inform us, and proba- 
bly do not know that Bishop Heber had the ill 
grace to refer to it as the land " where only man 
is vile," otherwise they might hesitate before favor- 
ing the whites with their presence. As they are to 
be brought here at the expense of the Imperial Gov- 
ernment, whose subjects they are, they will have a 
courteous reception, and the Moniteur will doubtless 
term them, as the "London Times" did President 
Roberts, of Liberia, gentlemen " of highly polished 
exterior." As to this qualification, we shall have 
ample means of judging on their advent, as the 
papers say that they wear no clothing, or at least 
none to speak of. Besides these specimens of 
African growth, there are abundance of Tunisians 
here, and one meets them at every turn in their 
eccentric costume, which I find, to my surprise, in- 
variably comprehends a pair of civilized shoes, fear- 
fully down at the heel. This I could not account 
for at first, but have since discovered it to be the 
result of an effort on their part to adapt themselves 



BAM AND HIS FRIENDS. 301 

to our dress, as to that extremity of their bodies. 
Being accustomed to wear shppers without heels, 
the J find these latter an intolerable burden, both 
from the size of this portion of the foot and its tend- 
erness, as heretofore it has been subjected to no press- 
ure, and has not therefore become in any degree 
hardened. The Bey of Tunis must be a cunning 
old fox, and has out-Heroded Herod in that respect ; 
for being greatly in want of funds, he has availed 
himself of the Exposition to aid him in making " a 
raise." For this purpose, at least so it would seem, 
he has proved himself quite as smart as the Imperial 
Commission, or a Swiss financier, and I don't know 
how anything more could be said in his praise. If any 
one has a sou left after passing through their hands, 
the world should give him a medal for his abilities. 
The Bey has fitted up his palace in the Park most 
superbly and gorgeously ; has made arrangements 
for gratifying the curiosity of the people by building 
two dens under it for lions and tigers ; and sent over 
a cafe altogether unique, with a band of native 
music. As to the latter, the notes they produce 
range over nearly one octave, and are about as 
lively as a passage across the Isthmus of Suez vid 
M. Lessep's new canal. There is this difference 
between them and Paganini : that whereas the latter 
was " great on a single string," they are very small 
indeed, which could hardly have been expected, con- 
sidering that they come fii'om a land where that in- 
strument takes so prominent a share in the adminis- 



802 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

tration of the government. Tlie entertainment tliey 
produce, though at first not debilitatmg, by reason 
of its novelty, gradually becomes tame and insipid 
as kissing one's sister. There are five performers, 
and the harmony is extracted from as many different 
instruments. They sit on a raised bench opposite 
the principal door, and twang away at their dreary 
drawl, till one feels the top of his head fahly loos- 
ened. How they manage to produce so much mo- 
notony from so many sources, I cannot comprehend : 
but it is so. The piece de resistance is a large earthen 
jar, over the mouth of which is stretched a piece of 
parchment, very possibly the sldn of the last Bey, 
whom the present one bowstringed, because he 
thought he had hved too long for the good of the 
country. This innocent bit of cuticle is exasper- 
ated with the fingers, and nothing more. Holding 
it on a triangle formed by resting his right foot on 
his left knee, the player alternately thumps, titillates, 
and scrapes it ; while his assistants follow on in hot 
pursuit, — with as little melody as a Yankee farmer 
trying to hive a swarm of bees, — aided by a tam- 
bour, a viol with one chord, a fiddle that has outlived 
its usefiilness, and another instrument of which I 
know not the name, but take to be a sackbut that 
once belonged to Nebuchadnezzar. Besides all 
these discords, the drummer mutters a low and dis- 
mal chant, like the moan of one in his last agony. 
The aggregate of melody from these efforts may be 
perhaps imagined by those who have that faculty 



HAM AND HIS FRIENDS. 303 

largely developed, but would need the pen of a Poe 
to describe with any approach to accuracy. 

Most persons would need no other evidence than 
the above that the establishment termed the Cafe 
de Tunis is really what it claims to be, and is man- 
aged by bona fide Tunisians. But if any one were 
so skeptical as to desire it, he would find all the ad- 
ditional testimony he wanted in the coffee. I took 
one cup, and it carried conviction to the inmost 
recesses of my system. It tasted like the contents 
of a whole apothecary's shop boiled down into one 
deadly mess, and had a deposit of sediment at the 
bottom, which reminded me of the Dismal Swamp. 
I had of\en heard of the strength of this beverage at 
the East, as being so prononce, that a spoon would 
rest in it unsupported and upright as a temperance 
man of fifteen years' standing — perhaps more so 
than some — but never before happened to en- 
counter the proof of it. This solidified Mocha, for 
so it was claimed to be, was served in small egg- 
shaped cups, each of which contained about two 
teaspoonfuls of liquid and the same quantity of pre- 
cipitate. No eatables are sold, and only beer in 
addition to the above, so that it would be difficult 
to " carouse pottle deep," or get drunk on the prem- 
ises. The beer is not fabricated in Tunis, for- 
tunately for the drinkers, but is brewed under the 
shadow of Strasburg Cathedral, so that one may 
have some confidence that it will develop a gracious 
tendency towards offsetting the effect of Pagan 



304 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

coffee on the systems of those who swallow both. 
There is still another fascmatlon from Africa be- 
sides the music and the drinks, and that is a Tunisi- 
enne, who sits behind a little counter at one end of 
the room, and condescends to lower her veil for the 
benefit of the visitors. I don't think her sacrifice 
is appreciated, though, for I heard a Frenchman 
near me express the ungallant wish that she would 
raise it again, and I must confess that I agreed with 
him. She is as homely as the Sphinx, without its 
claims to our admiration in the shape of antiquity 
and silence, — which latter, by the way, is a most es- 
timable virtue in woman, — and beyond a pair of 
rather hght eyes, has not the least charm of form 
or expression. Notwithstanding these drawbacks, 
however, or perhaps in consequence of them, the 
Cafe de Tunis is one of the most popular novelties 
of the Exposition, and is quite as much crowded as 
the Russian restaurant. 

Now that this result has been reached, the Bey 
has just let the cat out of the bag. I don't know 
the Tunisian for this phrase, otherwise I would 
clothe it in a less commonplace garb, but my readers 
will understand it. One fine day all the morning 
and evening papers contained a rather lengthy arti- 
cle with Tunis for the subject thereof, and expressed 
in substantially these words : " Our subscribers have 
doubtless all seen or heard of the extraordinary 
richness and luxury of the palace of the Bey of 
Tunis, which his Eminence has caused to be built 



HAM AND HIS FRIENDS. 305 

in the grounds of the Exhibition. This must have 
given every beholder, as it has ourselves, a vast idea 
of the enormous wealth and resources of the country 
from which it emanates. These are in great need 
of further development, and it will be seen by a 
reference to our advertisements that the Bey pro- 
poses to promote this improvement through the 
medium of a loan. Those who wish to aid this ruler 
in his laudable undertaking will notice that the in- 
ducements offered for their investment are very at- 
tractive." I do not pretend to give the exact 
language of any one of these insertions, but the 
above will aiford a very good idea of the sum 
total. Whether a gratifying response will be re- 
ceived by the Bey remains to be seen; but at all 
events it is a new indication of smartness on the 
part of the long-suffering colored race, and will go 
far to show that the artful dodgers in his much- 
abused country have not yet died out. What with 
the above negro development, the black soldiers of 
the French army that one often encounters in the 
streets, the waiters of the same hue that attend 
upon the customers of the American restaurant, the 
sable interpreters at the Exhibition designed for the 
benefit of their countrymen who do not know 
French, and the neutral tints at every corner in the 
shape of Japanese, Chinese, Moors, Malays and oth- 
ers, one is led irresistibly to the conclusion that the 
more lugubrious shades are in the ascendant here, 
just as they are in the United States. I^ would be 

20 



208 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

strange if Ham should turn up a trump after all, in 
spite of Noali's unkind remarks to him. I have 
learned that we are to have a new pigment from 
Madagascar in a few davs, and this will afford a 
famous opportunity for those who desire to see into 
how many shades, from ink to cream color, the blood 
of Ham has diverged. A " Hova prince," whatever 
that may be, a cousin of the Queen of that country, 
has been sent hither to study the great Expose.^ and 
has already left Tamariva with a numerous suite. 
He will probably find a great deal more than he ex- 
pected, both in the X. and outside of it. 

It is to be regretted that this royal barbarian did 
not arrive a few days earlier, especially if he de- 
signed to include natural history among his studies, 
for he would have seen a more curious specimen of 
animated nature than falls to the lot of most, and 
that was a camel race. 

Anions: the immense number of curiosities from 
every part of the world which one encounters at the 
Great Exhibition, not by any means the least in- 
teresting are four dromedaries. Two of these come 
from Egypt, and were sent over by the Viceroy of 
that country ; the others belong to the French Gov- 
ernment, and have been for some years used by the 
military authorities in the south of Algeria. Here 
their services have been invaluable, both by reason 
of their endurance and then' speed. One of them 
is especially swift and strong, and is said to have 
once on an emergency travelled over the trackless 



HAM AND HIS FRIENDS. 307 

deserts of that region two hundred and fifty miles 
in thirty hours. Since their arrival in the Champ 
de Mars, some discussion has naturally arisen in re- 
gard to the comparative fleetness of these animals, 
and it was finally decided to test the question, as far 
as practicable, by a trial in the Bois de Boidogne. 
This took place at ten in the morning, and was cer- 
tainly as piquant and amusing a spectacle as any- 
thing I have seen in Paris, even in the present 
abundance of novel and exciting displays. The 
ground selected was near the Barriere de Passy, 
and the track extended from tliat point to the edge 
of the lake, from which it returned In an irregular 
curve to the gate-way where it began. The course 
■was a distorted oval of about one kilometer, five 
eighths of an English mile, in length. 

When I reached the spot assigned for the meet- 
ing, which was on the shore of the lake at its near- 
est approach to the grand drive that leads around 
it, the prospect was extremely gay. The water 
glittered In the sun, while mimic waves excited by 
the morning breeze were cast ashore upon the 
beach of the island. The tasteful kiosk at the head 
of the latter, which forms so attractive an element 
in the views of the Bois, stood out In bright relief 
against the sombre CA^ergreens behind It. At its 
base the cascade fell tumultuously over the rocks, 
covered with ivy and woodbine, on which it stands. 
Beyond was the elegant bridge, partly concealed 
with creepers and climbing plants, that connects 



308 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

the islands. Around us were beds of scarlet gera- 
niums and blue lobelia in profusion, while to the 
left was the broad sloping lawn along the edge of 
which the camels were to run. This was here and 
there dotted with clumps of rare trees, among 
which was a fine specimen of our gigantic Califor- 
nia pine, already growing vigorously, and evidently 
taking kindly to its new habitat. Dotting the ave- 
nue in each direction were numbers of spectators, 
more than could have been expected at that early 
hour, mostly horsemen taking their morning ride. 
Many of them were superbly mounted, and as the 
animals they rode danced to and fro, their well- 
groomed coats reflected all the colors of the rain- 
bow. The dromedaries were crouched in pairs in 
each of a couple of little groves at the side of the 
road. However much the beholders might feel 
interested in the result of the race, they — that 
is the camels — did not exert their amour propre to 
the extent of caring in the least which of them won. 
They were evidently half frightened and half ugl}^, 
and craned their necks in every direction ; while 
they cast sinister glances from under their shaggy 
and half-closed eyebrows. One of them was in a 
state either of great terror or ferocity, — I could 
not quite decide which, — and from the depths of 
his inner consciousness and wonderful hydraulic ap- 
paratus produced groans, lamentations, and whim- 
perings that would have moved a heart of stone. 
He appeared to have a separate pain in each of his 



HAM AND HIS FRIENDS. 309 

four stomachs. Their long and awkward hind legs, 
as they squatted on the turf, were twisted together 
in a complication of which I never supposed bones 
capable. The Algerians were at least a third larger 
and heavier than their competitors and partly cov- 
ered with hair. This hung here and there in loose 
masses, and their bodies were deeply scarred with 
the girths of their saddles. The Egyptians were 
of slighter build, with no hair, and apparently more 
docile in temper. Once in a while, when they 
were approached too closely, or were offended at 
anything, the former distended their jaws, with a 
hissing sound, and from the bottom of their throats 
ejected their saliva at the object of their annoyance 
in a stream of several feet long. When doing this, 
they opened their eyes and looked fixedly at the 
keeper, or whoever it might be, probably to see if 
they had killed him. They had all, with one ex- 
ception, rings in their noses, and were guided partly 
by these, partly by goading and punching with a 
long lance. At a stroke from the latter on the left 
side of the neck they knelt down, while a blow on 
the right compelled them to rise. 

And now came the moment of departure, and 
their keepers, first indorsing themselves, forced 
them to get up. The Arabs were clothed in tur- 
bans and robes of white, crimson, and blue, and ev- 
idently felt great interest in the result. Those not 
on the dromedaries ran to and fro, gesticulated with 
vehemence, and jabbered their outlandish dialect in 



310 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

a manner that seemed really distracting. As the 
animals came forward in their awkward way, 
crowned first with their high-peaked saddles, and 
finally with the tawny sons of the desert who 
drove them, the effect was very picturesque ; upon 
the horses it was more than that, for their artistic 
tastes being ill developed, they knew not what to 
make of it. It was greatly interesting to watch 
these intelligent and spirited creatures, as the cam- 
els, before hidden by the crowd that surrounded 
them, gradually emerged, till they towered above 
everything, and slowly walked forth. Some at once 
stood erect on their hind legs and danced to and fro 
with excitement ; some stretched out their necks 
and bent down their ears wath faces expressing the 
deepest curiosity ; others put their nostrils close to 
those of their neighbors, and, snorting at intervals, 
appeared to be carrying on a sort of wondering con- 
versation. It had been arranged that the trial 
should take place in two races, one of each species 
being pitted against the other in both. The signal 
was given, and away shot the lithe and dingy Egyp- 
tian with the impetus of a rocket. His gait was 
clumsy and shambling, and he threw out his flat 
spongy feet on each side like a great polypus. The 
Algerian, however, was evidently confused by the 
novelty of his situation, and it was entirely impossi- 
ble to make him understand what they wanted him 
to do. No goading could make him start, and when 
his driver pulled the ring in his nostril, it only twisted 



HAM AND HIS FRIENDS. 311 

his long gutta-percha neck, till his nose rested upon 
the front of the saddle in helpless and ungainly stu- 
pidity. Finally, performing no less than four pirou- 
ettes, he shot off at a tangent into the crowd of 
horses and carriages on the right. Wild was the 
confusion, and terrible the excitement. At this the 
Algerian keepers, losing the slight modicum of pa- 
tience that remained to them, rushed forward and 
rained a perfect shower of blows upon the beast, 
thus finally forcing him into the track. At length 
he started, but with a sort of determined obstinacy 
that had plainly resolved not to win the race, if this 
result could be avoided. His movement was heavy 
and slow, and reminded me of those old four-horse 
coaches in which English noblemen used to go up 
to London in the days of Charles the Second. His 
expression was that of an animal deeply wronged, 
but bent on availing itself of the earliest opportu- 
nity for revenge. 

His rival had long before this disappeared around 
the first sharp bend in the track, amid the cheers 
of the crowd, which slowly changed to jeers, as they 
travelled towards the scene of his own refractory 
gyrations. The Egyptian was then scurrying on 
with an energy that seemed to distort every bone in 
his body. His driver, perched up aloft, was beating 
his flank with his right hand, wdiile with his left he 
held high in air the rein that was attached to the 
nostril. Every muscle, nerve, and fibre was thrilled 
with frenzy, and his white robes and crimson sash 



312 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

fluttered far behind him in the wind. I could not 
help thinking of Sister Anne on the summit of 
Bluebeard's tower, and her fervent gesticulations to 
the avenging brother. Soon we saw them both 
about half way round the course, and still in as vio- 
lent agitation. Quickly they drew nearer and 
nearer, and the spectators, some of whom had bets 
pending on the issue, already looked upon the affair 
as settled, when at about a hundred yards from the 
stand the successful competitor, already on the point 
of blossoming all over with the laurels of a prize 
camel, came to the conclusion that he had done 
enough for the honor of old Nile, and without any 
preliminaries squatted instanter on all fours in the 
middle of the track ; and there he stayed for several 
minutes under a fire of blows and punches, curses 
and kicks, from his exasperated Fellahs, that would 
have disconcerted even a mule. Meanwhile pon- 
derous dignity came slowly lumbering up, passed by 
like the Levite on the other side, and, coming to a 
stop at the goal, was declared the winner. His jaws 
were both covered with froth, and as he looked 
round for some one to spit at, he opened his mouth 
till wQ could see almost the whole of his internal 
machinery. He could not have yawned more com- 
prehensively, if he had been reading the poetry of 
Satan Montgomery, or been preached at by a 
bishop. His convulsions were dreadful to witness, 
and he evidentlv thought that no created thino; had 
ever been so wantonly abused as he. He elabo- 



HAM AND HIS FRIENDS. 813 

rated such sicrhs and o-roans from within as if seek- 
ing to work upon our better natures, that had 
any member of the Anti-Cruelty-to- Animals-Society 
been present, we should all probably have been at 
once haled before the nearest y^/^6 de paix. He was 
finally led away to a grove near by, and tied to a 
tree, where for a quarter of an hour after he was 
hissing at any one that came near him, and shooting 
oiit from under his eyebrows flashes of vindictive 
lio-htning from the storm that was bellowino; within 
him. 

So ended the course aux dromadaires. It seemed 
to be the general opinion that " the ship of the des- 
ert " was hardly a reliable craft in the Bois de 
JBoidogne, and that, unless his performances in Al- 
geria were somewhat different from those we had 
just seen, the minister of Avar had better set up 
another line of expresses, if he did not wish to let 
the African subjects of Napoleon " revolute " them- 
selves out of his dominions. Whatever their de- 
scent might be claimed to be, it was plain that they 
had in their veins little of the blood of Mohammed's 
" Alborak," and in spite of their genealogy, there 
could be but little hope of profit in trying to breed 
a racing stud from them. The turfites that were 
present would hardly be induced to back them, 
either in purse or person, and thought that though 
these creatures were very well in their way, the 
sooner they were out of ours the better. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

THE RESERVED GARDEN. 

The few warm days just past have had a most 
benignant mfluence upon the Garden of the Great 
Exhibition, and added a thousand charms to that 
small segment of Paradise. And when I apply to 
it the latter name, I think it quite flattering to the 
abode of our original ancestors, for there is little 
reason to suppose that that was inclosed with lofty 
palings of a hundred elegant and elaborate pat- 
terns, that it abounded in summer-houses and 
kiosks infinite in their variety of size and color, 
or was otherwise one half so richly adorned as 
this green gem of our sinful world. The crisped 
brooks that " rolled on orient pearl and sands of 
gold," were not inhabited by carp a hundred years 
of age, nor were there magnificent aquaria, where 
one might study at his ease through broad sweeps 
of plate glass the habits of the finny tribe, and watch 
their gract.-ful motions. All these and more were 
wanting, and we cannot but regard ourselves as 
quite lucky in the advantages that we at present 
enjoy, especially when we think of the style in which 
" the gardener Adam and his wife " lived in other 



THE RESERVED GARDEN, 315 

respects. Obviously, we are better in our own estate. 
I do not know if the originals of all the trees that 
were ever created were in the garden of Eden, but 
the Imperial Commission has done its best to place 
a specimen of each in the Ohamp de Mars. This is 
one of the great attractions of the spot, and an ad- 
mirer of this branch of the vegetable world can find 
the amplest opportunities for gratifying his taste. 
He w^ill not, to be sure, find " the tree of the knowl- 
edge of good and evil ; " but here in Paris this is not 
much missed, and most men acquire from bitter ex- 
perience a very good image of it, which remains for- 
ever in their minds. The show of evergreens is 
especially fine, and many have been sent here for 
exhibition not only from distant nurseries in France, 
but from England. Some of these are twenty feet 
high and most symmetrical in their shape, and rich 
in exuberant dark-toned foliage. Many are ex- 
tremely rare and valuable, and their novel and pict- 
uresque forms would have delighted the soul of the 
lamented Downing. No part of the world is too 
remote to contribute its share, and on the various 
tickets with which they are marked one reads the 
names of Australia and California, Japan and the 
regions of the Upper Amazon. There are superb 
collections and single specimens of the New Zealand 
pine, whose grotesque and nondescript form is worthy 
of the other peculiar productions of that latitude. 
Compared with the rest of the evergreen tribe with 
which we are familiar, it strikes one very much like 



316 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

the moose, or the armadillo, when contrasted with 
other animals. And yet it takes very kindly to 
the soil of England and France, and in many local- 
ities grows with luxuriance. 

These trees are mostly arranged in groups and 
clumps, though here and there the more showy 
specimens are placed by themselves, that their beau- 
ties may be seen on every side. Many have been 
located all around the great conservatory, where 
their number and picturesque arrangement offer a 
most powerful and striking contrast to the vast 
walls of glass that tower above them. These are 
still more effective from the fact that they spring 
from the flanks of the enormous mass of artificial 
rock on which this structure is founded. Their 
shaggy shades overhang the grots and caverns that 
have been excavated here and there, and lend 
another feature to the fascinating delusions of the 
place. Among these may be found choice trees 
from the higher ranges of the Himalayas in friendly 
rivalry with the cedar of Lebanon. Below and 
around them are ample groups of flowering rho- 
dodendrons from the former site, and beds of the 
charming rose of Sharon from Palestine. Their 
gay drapery of white and yellow, pink and purple, 
adorns the slopes that stretch from the entrance to 
the conservatory on either hand, and nestle here and 
there in the niches of the little precipice on whose 
summit it stands, and from whose central edge, 
crowned with a marble statue, a cascade leaps over 



THE RESERVED GARDEN. 317 

the rocks into the pond below. The magnolias are 
especially fine, and some of the single plants are of 
wonderful symmetry and beauty. At the entrances 
to the aquaria have been placed examples of the 
Mexican cactus more than ten feet high, — single 
columns of vegetable architecture, without a leaf or 
branch, but spiny, thick, and succulent. Near by in 
nooks and rifts of the craggy mass are aloes, or cen- 
tury plants, vegetable giants, drawing their support 
indifferently from earth or air, fierce in expression 
and powerful to wound. At the principal gate of 
the Garden are large and elegant vases, of new and 
striking design, with strange exotic shrubs overtop- 
ping them. Beyond these are handsome English 
yews, and a specimen of that fascinating tree, lately 
introduced into Europe and already become ex- 
tremely popular in horticultural landscape, the Eu- 
calyptus globulus., or Blue Gum, of Tasmania. The 
lithe and pliant elasticity of this tall and dehcate 
shrub, the characteristic shape and disposal of its 
leaves, the bloom, resembling that of the grape, 
which covers them, and its slender trunk invested 
with a delicate bark, all give it an odd and quaint as- 
pect. Like the bamboo, it seems part way between 
a reed and a tree, and possesses an individuality of its 
own that makes it wonderfully attractive to those who 
have taste in such matters. In small groups it adds 
a very impressive feature to a gardener's landscape. 
Overhanging this, is a tree which affords a good 
illustration of the exertions made to bring this Gar- 



818 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

den to its present labored perfection. This is a 
plane, or buttonwood, at least fifty feet high and of 
corresponding circumference, which last January 
was located in the city nurseries more than a mile 
from its present site. It is now flourishing, and, 
though a little behind the rest of its species here- 
abouts, is thickly covered with fresh green leaves. 

Among the other arboreal relishes of this spot 
are several fine samples of Californian produce in 
the shape of the Wellingtonea gigantea^ as it is here 
called, being the enormous evergreen of that name, 
so well known in the United States as the tallest of 
its tribe that Nature has yet produced. They are 
most exuberant in their foliage and impressive in 
their shape. The largest of them do not yet exceed 
twenty feet in height, but they are already devel- 
oping the figure that belongs to them in their native 
habitat. Of this even those who have not been 
so fortunate as to see them on the Pacific coast, 
can easily judge here at the Exliibition, through 
the large and admirable photographs by Mr. Wat- 
kins, exposed in the American department. These 
latter, in their workmanship and taste, are quite 
worthy of the objects they represent. It will be 
recollected by some that the parent trees are per- 
fectly bare for a great distance from the ground, 
when in full maturity ; I think in many places over 
a hundred feet. This peculiarity is already showing 
itself in the larger ones here, for while the thick 
branches of the smaller yet cover the turf at 



THE RESERVED GARDEN. 310 

theli- base, the taller display their trunks to nearly 
two feet from their roots. Around Paris in various 
directions there are beautiful specimens of this ever- 
green, particularly in the Bois de Boulogne^ and the 
Jardin d' Acclimatation. Great care is taken of them, 
and they are invariably placed by themselves, so that 
no surrounding shrubbery may interfere with their 
full growth. They bear the climate very w^ell here 
and in England, which also has many fine examples 
in her parks and gardens. It will be long before any 
of them will overtop the dome of the Invalides^ or 
even reach the size of the one that was so unfortu- 
nately consumed with the Crystal Palace at Syden- 
ham, but there is no reason to doubt that their de- 
velopment will be hastened by the favorable circum- 
stances in which they are now placed. No Amer- 
ican can look upon one of these young and sturdy 
giants without a certain feeling of pride in them, 
both as the productions of a vigorous and thrifty 
State, and as suggestive symbols of the national 
progress. When our country is as old as the ances- 
tor of these, may she still be as green and lusty ; 
and when she falls, if that be her fate, may she be- 
queath as promising an inheritance to her successor, 
as that which is now enjoyed by their European 
offspring. 

The gardens of Europe, and that of the Exhibi- 
tion no less, well illustrate the great facilities en- 
joyed by modern amateurs and horticulturists in 
the discovery and distribution of new and beautiful 



320 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

exotics. In old times an unknown plant made its 
appearance but rarely, and tlien only as a matter of 
chance. It is not much more than a century ago 
that the weeping-willow, now so common and so 
much admired, strayed into England in the guise of 
a twig that bound together a basket of Smyrna figs 
sent to Pope at his villa. Seeing a sprout just peep- 
ing from under the bundle, the poet had compassion 
on it, and planted it where it was cared for, till it 
became the parent of a greater host than came out 
of the loins of Abraham. It is hardly fifty years 
since that well known flower, the Fuchsia., was dis- 
covered by an English florist for the first time in a 
cracked tea-pot that adorned the window of a sailor's 
wife, occupying a poor cottage in the suburbs of Lon- 
don. Enthusiastically bribing the unwilling owner 
to part with it by the offer of all the money in his 
pocket, — some eight pounds, — he carried it off*, 
propagated it, and urged its growth with such suc- 
cess that it has almost become naturalized in Eng- 
land. On the southern coast of that country it has 
attained such size in the mild temperature which the 
gulf stream breathes upon it, that it often towers to 
the height of twelve or fifteen feet, and rustic seats 
are made of its wood. Nowadays, however, all this 
fitful uncertainty is changed. Commerce has under- 
gone an enormous development, both in speed and 
distance, and wherever a merchant's vessel pene- 
trates, there the botanist and gardener can send 
their messengers, and that with unfailing success. 



THE RESERVED GARDEN. 321 

Mr. Fortune and others have ransacked China and 
Japan, and the Wiegela, the Wistaria, and hundreds 
of other new plants have made their appearance. 
The most remote recesses of the Himalayas have 
been searched for new rhododendrons and azaleas, 
and the most intricate jungles and swamps of South 
America have given up their orchids and lilies of a 
thousand shapes and hues. Even the investigator 
of Egyptian antiquities has shared in the work, and 
the wheat on which the subjects of the Pharaohs 
once fed, Belzoni has discovered for our use ; while 
the floral beauties of old have been revealed to 
this age, and the bulb in the hand of the mummy, 
shrouded in the dust and darkness of centuries, has 
blossomed into shining wings, — unfolding the glory 
in its heart of hearts, like the broad acres, resplen- 
dent with golden poppies, which welcome the emi- 
grant to California, and seem the bright effluence 
of her hidden riches. 

To the Garden of the Exposition a further charm 
is given by several displays of other less imposing, 
though in some cases more seductive, aspects of 
vegetable life, in the shape of flowers and fruit. 
These are arrayed in small sheds and tents, and in 
some cases have been very attractive. They are 
changed from time to time : and one day the visitor 
finds a collection of superb tulips, which makes him 
quite approve of the mania of the Hollanders for 
that flower ; on another he sees mammoth Duchess 
pears that have been kept in excellent preservation 
all winter, and are of the size of small squashes, 
21 



322 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

and giant asparagus, one stalk of which would serve 
for the very ace of clubs ; and the next day, per- 
chance, these have given place to long rows of 
strawberry plants in pots, covered with fruit, and 
scores of grape vines in boxes, weighed down by 
heavy clusters of Frontignac and Black Hamburg. 
In a greenhouse near the Eeole Militaire, is a 
superb gathering of orchids. These are in full 
bloom, and like vegetable butterflies, seem to fan 
the air with their delicately poised petals, while 
their brilliant dyes fascinate the eye. Moved by a 
breath, so long and attenuated are their stems, they 
swing to and fro, and at once transport the thought 
to those tropical regions far away, where Nature 
boon pours forth profuse over dark morass and soli- 
tary swamp innumerable effulgences like these, and 
confiding in her wealth, makes the most dreary im- 
ages of death enticing with the radiance of coming 
heaven. Almost as gay has been the show of gera- 
niums, during the past week, in the large Con- 
servatory. This is a noble building, entirely of 
glass, and covered with thin wooden mats, whose 
broad stripes of alternate green and white add 
greatly to its striking effect, while they shade the 
tender plants from the scorching scirocco without. 
It is a hundred feet square, the centre being at 
least eighty feet high. From the front projects a 
noble portico fifty feet long, and extending the whole 
length of \\\Q fagade. It is composed of open lat- 
tice work richly gilt and resting on pillars, slender 
and elegantly carved, of the same hue. It is cano- 



THE RESERVED GARDEN. 323 

pied with cloth painted in broad bands of crimson 
and white, and in the middle is a fountain of ex- 
quisite design. The floral Pantheon to which this 
picturesque vestibule leads, is partly filled in the 
centre with full - grown palms, — most of which 
Avere brouo-ht from Nismes and other towns five 
hundred miles away in the south of France, — ba- 
nanas and other impressive exotic trees, while at 
intervals along the sides and winding paths are ex- 
posed the large ferns and other plants on exhibition. 
The bananas are glorious beyond compare, and with 
their broad greenness entirely untorn by the wind, 
rise on every hand like fountains of foliage. The 
collection of azaleas is magnificent, and those from 
Messrs. Veitch & Sons, of London, who are so em- 
inent in their department in England, and contrib- 
ute such wonderful displays to the annual meetings 
of the Royal Horticultural Society, are triumphs 
worthy of a lifetime. They are huge cones and 
pyramids of floral splendor, whose intensity, vari- 
ety, and, at times, softness of color remind one of 
the brilliant clouds that gather round the setting 
sun. It would be difficult to discover a more im- 
posing or convincing example of the results which 
have been reached by the persevering efforts of 
florists during the last twenty years. 

That no attraction may be wanting to this charm- 
ing locality, chairs of great comfort have been 
placed before the portico, and here one can sit and 
from the edge of the little precipice, look across the 
mimic lake to the grove beyond, and hear the band 



324 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

play on pleasant afternoons. This they do in a 
handsome pavilion built for their accommodation. 
It is broad and round, and the pillars on which it 
rests are painted in green, gold, and vermilion. 
Spears, gilt and slender, project here and there, and 
support hangings of purple silk. These are fringed 
with w^hite and looped up at intervals with gilt cords 
and tassels. Around it the banks are covered wdth 
rhododendrons in full bloom, whose bright blossoms 
offer a gratifying contrast to their rich, dark foli- 
age. The music is excellent, and comes from the 
different regiments stationed in this vicinity. Here 
the people gather in crowds, and the scene is often 
lively in the extreme. Ladies flutter their parasols 
in bonnets and dresses that rival the flowers about 
them. Men of all nations look on applaudingly, 
and in the cheerfiil revelry of the scene, forget all 
but the glittering present. Care for the moment 
becomes a myth ; and oblivious of the past, sanguine 
of the ftiture, one thinks of nothing but the blessed 
fate that brought him to Paris. It is but an epit- 
ome of the whole Park, and this again but another 
proof of the success of the French in providing epi- 
curean delights. And not only that, but in doing 
it with tact and delicacy, and so concentrating 
them, that in the midst of the greatest profusion 
one is not cloyed and surfeited. It is their forte to 
combine pleasure in its thousand aspects, as the 
weaver from golden threads and scarlet silk elabo- 
rates the graceful and gorgeous patterns that cover 
the web when it leaves the loom. 



CHAPTER XXni. 

SEVRES. 

As might easily have been inferred from its 
past history, France takes the lead at the Great 
Exhibition in articles of luxury of nearly every 
class, and especially of those which combine the 
higher forms of beauty and usefulness. The energy 
of her people, the influence of government, and 
the skill of her workmen, have been for so many 
years directed towards supplying the world with 
sensuous delights, that her superiority in this re- 
spect is universally admitted. And by sensuous 
delights, I mean not merely those which minister to 
the lust of the eye and the pride of life, but those 
which contribute a substantial, as well as pleasus:- 
able, addition to human enjoyment and well-being. 
With the French these have received a more re- 
fined and artistic treatment than elsewhere, and it 
is their natural talent to gild the prosaic utility of 
other lands with the elegance of innate taste, quick- 
en their cold dullness with the warm flush of a more 
vivid life, and cause the tardy buds of a slower 
growth to expand into sudden and unexpected 
loveliness and perfume. To keep these inborn en- 



326 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

dowments at their present height, and moreover to 
increase them by every possible means, have become 
matters of national honor. Thus to add to the de- 
velopment of our age, and give the world assurance 
of their strength, is now the habit of the French, 
and they would feel deeply chagrined did they see 
any indication that the prestige of their name was 
fkfling away. It is, moreover, at the present day 
really a necessity that foreign nations should appre- 
ciate their untiring efforts to attract them by the 
myriad phases of their peculiar faculty, especially 
since Paris has so greatly increased in size, for from 
them its citizens must obtain their chief support. 
The multitude of strangers that resort to it must, 
hence, be tempted by every allurement to leave 
behind them as much of their hard-earned gold as 
Parisian ingenuity and shrewdness can fairly ab- 
stract from their pockets. And present appear- 
ances will certainly constrain every one to confess 
that they show but little diminution of their ancient 
ability in this department. To this end, they are 
very naturally favored by their government, which 
tenders its thriving subjects every aid in its power. 
It is now so rich and represents such a vast ac- 
cumulation of resources, that it can offer the Paris- 
ians for their improvement the most costly and 
magnificent models of taste and beauty. The in- 
fluence of these is great and valuable, for it pro- 
motes the incessant expansion of their inventive 
powers by keeping before them types for their 



SEVRES. 327 

mental advancement in their various arts and occu- 
pations. It has always been the policy of the reign- 
ing monarch, and preeminently of the present one, 
to make these freely accessible to the people. Hence 
the most favorable results are always accruing, for 
the citizens receive through the eye, often unknown 
to themselves, impressions that are both durable and 
productive. 

I was led to these reflections by looking at the 
superb and inimitable display of porcelain from the 
Imperial manufactory at Sevres, and of tapestries 
from that of the Gobelins. These are exposed in 
the same court of the Exhibition Buildinfy. Their 

o 

names are world-renowned, and of course, familiar 
to a large part of my readers. The latter will be 
pleased to hear that the present collection of both 
not only equals, but surpasses, those of former ex- 
positions in every respect, and shows a steady 
progress, even within five years, towards increasing 
excellence. Nothing can exceed the elaborate rich- 
ness, the gorgeous variety, of the works exposed to 
view, either in design or execution. One sees on 
every hand exquisite coloring, skill in execution, and 
classic elegance of form. The tapestries are hung 
upon the walls, while the vases, cups, and other 
specimens of porcelain are arranged upon shelves 
and stands covered with crimson velvet. It is im- 
possible to look upon this imposing show without a 
feeling, not merely of admiration, but of awe, at the 
splendid results attained from the wealth of a great 



328 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

people m the hands of one man. In its presence 
the most inveterate republican finds his faith not a 
little shaken for the moment, and is willing to admit 
that even imperialism is entitled to its share in the 
commendation of mankind, and at the present day 
even contributes considerably to its progress. 
It will doubtless be suo-crested that these are 

C5C5 

articles of luxury, made for the enjoyment of the 
wealthy, and beyond the reach of all others. But, 
as I have said above, they really take a prominent 
and useful part in the national education. Wedg- 
wood, whose taste and judgment well qualified him 
to give an opinion on this subject that is entitled 
to respect, wrote these truthful words : " Nothing 
can contribute more effectually to diffuse a good 
taste through the arts, than the power of multiply- 
ing copies of fine things in materials fit to be ap- 
plied for ornaments, by which means the public 
eye is instructed, good and bad works are nicely 
discriminated, and all arts receive improvement. 
Nor can there be any surer way of rendering any 
exquisite piece possessed by an individual famous, 
without diminishing the value of the original ; for 
the more copies there are of any work, as of the 
Venus de* Medici for example, the more celebrated 
the original will be, and the more honor derived 
to the possessor. Everybody wishes to see the orig- 
inal of a beautiful copy." 

This opinion is most sensible, and based on an 
accurate knowledge of human nature. It applies to 



SEVRES. 329 

any people, though they may not be endowed with 
the tastes of the French. All men, except those of 
the lowest intellect, live more in the future than the 
present, and each one ever sees before him some 
object, at the moment unattainable, but really the 
luxury of his heart. He looks incessantly beyond 
the dry realities of life around him, towards some- 
thing that may alleviate his lot, and make the hard- 
ships of this world a little more endurable and less 
wearing. If this object be of such a nature as to 
elevate his mind by infusing its own suggestions of 
religion, beauty, or morality, it will so far lend a 
healthy growth, and he will be strengthened by his 
own aspirations. The more such objects are im- 
proved and multiplied, the more powerful and au- 
spicious will be their effect in the advancement of a 
people towards a noble end. If they do nothing 
else, they will at least tend to diminish the number 
of those of whom Victor Hugo speaks, who cannot 
discern the difference between the stars of heaven 
and those which the ducks make with their feet in 
the soft mu4 around their native puddle. It there- 
fore becomes even republicans here in Paris to 
reflect upon the truth of the poet's words, — 

" There is some soul of goodness in things evil, 
Would men observingly distill it out," — 

and not show so little judgment, or charity, as some : 
for example, a female radical whom I heard the 
other evening style the Sevres display '' a collection 



330 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

of pomps and vanities fit only for tlie luxurious and 
enervated subjects of a perjured despot." 

In this matter of the fabrication of costly porce- 
lain, France is entitled to great credit, to that 
renown, in short, which comes from a long and per- 
sistent adherence to one object. Its success has 
always been dear to the nation. There have been 
many revolutions, and the sovereign people have 
oftentimes danced wild and triumphant carmagnoles 
over the ruins that ever cover the empire of anarchy, 
but they have always spared Sevres. Her choicest 
productions that bore the hated monogram of Louis 
Philippe were, to be sure, thrown from the windows 
of the Tuileries by cart-loads. The grounds sur- 
rounding his villa at Neuilly were strewn with the 
wrecks of elegance and taste, and the flames of its 
burning lit up the shattered fragments of cups and 
goblets in which Pericles might have drank the 
health of Aspasia, — of ewers and tankards from 
which Hebe might have poured out celestial liquor 
for the frods. Classic in their form, and moulded 
into every outline of beauty by cunning workmen 
appreciating the visual delight that comes from a 
graceful curve, adorned with the choicest landscapes 
of Claude and Vernet, or the masterpieces of Ra- 
phael and the Caracci, vases and bowls overspread 
the flower-beds, or were trampled into the earth of 
which they were the once lovely oflPspring. Thus 
man himself cometh up as a flower, and thus often 
in death his bones lie scattered, the subjects of 



SEVRES. 331 

wasteful wrath. The same fires served to bring 
out in strong relief the distant towers of the cha- 
teau of Sevres, yet the mob, infuriate as they were 
with wine, and eager to destroy every emblem of 
their fallen master, had no thought of harming so 
proud a monument of their country's progress. 
Even in that hour of havoc and orgies, it served to 
point out to them the results of industry, order, and 
economy, and by its quiet and impressive contrast 
with the scene around, finally to win them back to 
the restoration and observance of heaven's own 
elementary laws. It is thus that Sevres has ever 
been preserved. At the present day its record is 
a proud one. It not only looks back upon a long 
list of victories, but sees no rival in the future that 
will be likely to contest its supremacy. Once its 
competitors were numerous ; now they have disap- 
peared, or sunk away into inefficiency. Austria 
has for two years ceased to contend in any form, 
for national bankruptcy has closed its manufactory. 
Saxony now limits her efforts to a cheaper and 
more profitable class of works. And the same is 
true of all the rest. The French Government has 
reason to be contented with the high position to 
which Sevres has attained through their untiring 
aid. In 1855 the jury selected from all nations 
gave its verdict in favor of this manufactory, and 
the world in general is satisfied of its justice. In 
their report its members use the following language : 
" The reasons for which the jury decree the grand 



332 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

medal of honor to the Imperial Manufactory of 
Sevres are these : 

1st. The extraorclmary perfection of its workman- 
ship, which is allowed to be superior to that of all 
the other exhibitors. 

2d. The recent improvements it has introduced 
into the various branches of the ceramic art. 

3d, The great variety of its works. 

•ith. The artistic taste displayed in their decora- 
tion. 

5th. The invention of new models and ornaments, 
for nearly all the forms displayed by the manufac- 
tory of Sevres are new, and have been designed in 
its workshops within a few years." 

This decision is extremely gratifying, and there 
is every reason to believe that a verdict of a similar 
tenor will be rendered in regard to the exhibition 
of this year. Its staff of managers embraces men 
of the greatest scientific abihty as well as taste. 
The chief director, M. Regnault, is of indefatigable 
energy, and he is well seconded by the principal 
chemist, M. Salvetat, and M. Millet, superintendent 
of the fabrication. They are still discovering new 
processes, and making fresh combinations tending to 
promote durability and beauty of tint in the material 
with which they w^ork. The mysteries of their 
profession are very intricate, and would be some- 
what difficult for a connoisseur to learn, even if the 
officials were disposed to reveal them. I w^as told 
that a vase which I particularly admired was made 



SEVRES. 333 

of ^^ silicate alumino-alcalin^^ combined with " silicate 
d^alumine hydrate.,'''' whereupon I remained satisfied 
with that amount of information, and did not seek 
to make any further progress in that direction. 
When they remarked that the combination in ques- 
tion was extremely hard to eflPect, and was regarded 
as a great triumph in its way, I admitted this with- 
out the shghtest disposition to contradict it. The 
evidences before me were so complete as to a 
positive advance in beauty and artistic excellence, 
that I was willing to allow anything that was re- 
vealed to me. Within the past few years great 
attention has been given to a style called pate sur 
pate. As its name implies, it consists in the appli- 
cation of one layer of porcelain to another. The 
artist places upon a foundation of colored biscuit 
portions of white paste composed of metallic oxides 
and tempered with water. He moulds and carves 
this into the design required, the vessel then re- 
ceives its final finish from the hands of the work- 
man and is placed in the ftirnace. Upon its re- 
appearance it is found to be covered with a deep 
and glassy polish. The background is especially 
brilliant, and glows with a metallic lustre, generally 
of a rosy tint more or less clear. The bass-reliefs of 
white, though standing out in well defined lines, 
are nearly transparent at their edges. The only 
defect of this method — and some might call it an 
excellence — is, that the number of colors which 
can be employed with success is quite small, and 



334 TEE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

thus the designer is obliged to display his talent 
principally through the lineaments of his figures. 
Hence, among; the articles exhibited on this occa- 
sion, the cameos, which need no variety of tones, 
hold the most prominent rank. Their merit is won- 
derful, and the contrast offered by the vigor and 
life of their pure outlines against the dark and glit- 
tering surface upon which they rest, is most im- 
pressive. It is well for Sevres that the energy of its 
managers has taken this novel direction, for it had 
before effected everything that could be wished in the 
mere painting of china. Copies of landscapes and 
figures from the pencils of old masters, glittering 
flowers and resplendent birds, have been done again 
and again with a perfection that has never been 
equaled, and cannot be improved. It is a fresh 
tribute to the ever progressive influence of Nature 
and the unceasing advance of our race, that its 
managers should thus pass from the more sensuous 
attractions of color to the simplicity of classic ele- 
gance and purity of shape. Its effect will soon be 
seen in this, as in other directions. Nature woos 
us to her side by many a charm, but in no way 
more so than through the infinite harmony of her 
forms. Science daily reveals to us the mysterious 
melody of her deeper combinations, with results not 
merely of practical utility, but of fascination both for 
eye and ear, as Professor Tyndall has lately and 
often shown. In her prolific and unnumbered 
shapes, what fruits from this source cannot be 



si:vRES 385 

hoped for? It may, and probably will, be our 
fortune through this aid finally to attain to an ap- 
preciation of the beautiful, such as even Phidias 
never enjoyed. Hence, anything that tends to keep 
her attractions more prominently before us will 
assist, however little, in this effect, and is to be 
encouraged by every means. And hence it is that 
the labors of the artists at Sevres have given a 
patent proof that they deserve well of mankind. 

I was particularly impressed with a large vase in 
the new style which has just been done. It is 
unique in shape, material, and decoration, and the 
adaptation of each of these to the other shows 
great independence of judgment, as well as exqui- 
site tact. This harmony is well set off by the rich 
translucent enamel which covers it, and whose liquid 
depth lends an additional charm to the tint of pale 
sea-green that overspreads its exterior. It is about 
four feet high, and stands upon a pedestal of gilded 
bronze, elaborate in its design. The texture of the 
material is most delicate, and the tone of its color 
extremely clear and even. It is impossible to avoid 
admiring the symmetry of figure, which seems to 
blend with its ornaments, so that the whole bears 
the stamp of the same ruling mind. From its 
lower edge spring leaves of the sagittaria^ or arrow- 
head, and the broad foliage of the coarser aquatic 
plant, all being done in white. These grow more 
and more slender and less numerous, with the 
narrowing lines of the vases, until at last only a 



336 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

few tall reeds slioot up to near the top. Tlie stalks 
of these are delicate, and finally tipped with featheiy 
flowers, and all appear to wave to and fro, as if a 
gentle breeze was passing over them. In the 
centre of the parted group stands a heron, that has 
just seized a fish from the water at its feet. This 
figure shows wonderful vitality and truth to nature, 
and as he holds the struggling prey high in air, one 
almost expects to see it disappear in his unscrupu- 
lous maw. Of course, description of a work like 
this must be tame, and to a certain extent unmean- 
ing. I have given this only as a slight intimation. 
It is only one with numerous others in the Sevres 
court, all of which show great vigor of design and 
execution, together with rare promise for the future. 
The old style of meretricious coloring and exact 
copies of chefs d'oeuvre., presenting the skeletons of 
the great labors of genius without the soul, they 
can well afford to abandon. Thouo;h these have, to 
a certain extent, a powerful effect upon the educa- 
tion of the people, yet they can be done sufficiently 
well by other manufactories. Its managers, in strik- 
ing out into new and bolder paths, have, either by 
fortune or talent, fallen upon one that has not 
merely the merit of novelty, but of beauty and 
healthy usefulness. For this they deserve infinite 
credit. Yet with the resources at their command 
they can do more than they have already attempted. 
It will be well for France if they shall inaugurate 
some further researches, tending to combine econ- 



SEVRES 337 

omy of production with simple and elegant decora- 
tion. In this way they will contribute more directly 
to the comfort of the poorer classes, and not only 
that, but to their mental profit. 

While closing this chapter, I desire, as a matter 
of justice and gratitude, to say that the officials in 
charge of the Sevres collection are extremely well 
informed as to all matters concerning its style of 
fabrication, and not only that, but, like many others 
of their class in France, very affable and ready to 
impart any aid in their power to those desiring it. 
I have been indebted to them for many civilities, 
and their uniform courtesy is deserving of every 
commendation. It is the more creditable from the 
fact that they are in a position which is somewhat 
trying. They are responsible for the safety of every 
article in this large and costly display, and these 
demand incessant care. Some are small, and easily 
abstracted by rapacious visitors. Others are fragile, 
and need great care to prevent fracture. They are 
pestered with all sorts of questions by ignorant and 
foolish people, and altogether it is a matter of won- 
der how they can retain any degree whatever of 
equanimity or cheerfulness, not to mention polite- 
ness. 

22 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

FEATHERS. 

The vast outer gallery that surrounds the Great 
Exhibition building, is devoted, as I presume many 
of my readers know, to machinery. The specimens 
of this form of human ingenuity are enormous in 
number, of every possible style, and for every pos- 
sible purpose. There are not, to be sure, many that 
are novel, or that promise to introduce a new era 
in their department, but one can easily discover 
hundreds that are of extreme interest, and which 
appear of almost human capacity. When they are 
all in motion the effect is indescribable. It is one 
grand manifestation of the power of intellect over 
inert and rude matter, whose impression upon the 
observer is really for the moment overpowering. 
This collection is the representative type of the age, 
and to a reflecting mind is to the full as character- 
istic and magnificent as the Great Pyramid, or the 
Parthenon. The broad belt that contains it is the 
Coliseum of industry, and, like that at Rome, it 
surrounds the wide arena in which men from every 
nation contend, though in our day, fortunately, in 
peaceful rivalry, and only for the mastery of mind. 



FEATHERS. 339 

The movements of all these intricate automatons 
have a strange fascination for the people, who daily 
gather in crowds about them, and watch with un- 
ending interest every repetition. The envelope- 
machine, for example, goes through its endless and 
wonderful work by the hour together. It stretches 
out delicate fingers of polished steel, seizes upon 
the paper, shapes, gums, and folds it with a super- 
human neatness and dexterity, and still the crowd 
look on with eyes never satisfied. They stay and 
cling around it, or leave the spot and return again, 
only to stare, as if they could penetrate some inner 
mystery, or perchance were expecting to hear it 
speak, and utter some strange oracle from its inte- 
rior. And still the monotonous artificer goes on, 
and makes no sign but the faint click which an- 
nounces that it is doing its work faithfully and well. 
Combined with several machines besides this 
latter, are other manufactures in active opera- 
tion, some of which are quite complicated and in- 
teresting. Here artificial flowers are made, and 
from heaps of gay pieces of silk and satin, bright 
bouquets come forth in all that exquisite rivalry of 
Nature, which French workmen of that class know 
so well how to attempt with success. Here felt 
hats are made, and one can watch the dowTiy spoils 
of the rabbit, from its first estate of apparent 
inefficiency, through all the operations necessary to 
produce a comfortable and elegant " tile," durable 
enough to shelter one's head over an Alpine pass 



340 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

on a rainy day, easy enough to make one hate to 
take it off, and yet sufficiently handsome to aid in 
the composition of a bow to the finest lady in the 
land. Near this manufactory in a nutshell, is an 
unpretending fabrication which many pass by with- 
out notice. It is a simple loom, of small size, at 
which is seated a girl engaged in weaving a mat 
from shredded feathers. This is not very impress- 
ive to most minds, but it is really an important il- 
lustration of one phase of human industry in France, 
which has within a few years gradually increased 
to not a little prominence and value. It is novel in 
application, ingenious in its invention, and to those 
who know the progress it has made fi'om slight 
beginnings, through the talents and perseverance of 
one man, it offers a very suggestive lesson. 

Most of my readers will recollect that there was 
a time when steel pens did not exist, and " the gray 
goose-quill " was the only medium for communicat- 
ing their lofty yearnings to paper. Some of us 
well remember those school-days, when to know 
" how to mend a pen " was considered an essential 
part of our education, and a long list of minor 
offenses, each endowed with its appropriate punish- 
ment and arising from this source, served to impress 
that fowl upon our memories. Many will call to 
mind the tokens they received from the itching 
palm of a master, for maltreatment of quill pens ; 
such as dropping them on the floor, placing their 
feet upon them, using them wherewith to propel 



FEATHERS. 341 

foreign substances in the style of the Carribee In- 
dians, and other forms of youthful activity and will- 
ful misapplication of the blessings of the common 
school system. In those days the goose was on the 
high road to immortality. His lineage dated from 
that period when the vigilant, though somewhat 
inharmonious, voices of his ancestors saved the Ro- 
man State. In the Middle Ages, popular wisdom 
briefly attributed to him a share in the triumvirate 
that ruled the world. " Anser^ apis, vitulus^ popw- 
los et regna guhernant^'" — " The goose, the bee, and 
the calf, govern peoples and kingdoms," — said the 
monks, and straightway devoted themselves all the 
more earnestly to those chosen manuscripts, which 
were to transmit to our age the lore of antiquity 
by means of pen, wax, and parchment. In more 
modern times, his power was acknowledged by those 
who used him to be of dire effect, and the well- 
known line, " The pen is mightier than the sword," 
is but the altered form of an earlier sentiment 
expressed in more rugged prose. In the words of 
James Howell to Ben Jonson, " The fangs of a 
bear, or the tusks of a wild boar, do not bite more 
or make a deeper gash, than a goose-quill some- 
times." This now " tame villatic fowl " was even 
enshrined in the flowing verse of Pope, and the 
" Dunciad " itself bears witness to his imputed 
power. 

" Could Troy be saved by any single hand, 

This gray-goose weapon must have made her stand." 



342 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

In this prime of his race, the goose was ever the 
companion of the Muses, and conld hold his own 
with the birds of Jove and Minerva. Dr. Frank- 
Hn boldly demanded that he should be selected as 
" the bird of our country," not because his ances- 
tors saved Rome, or that he tasted well with celery 
sauce, and even in his ashes lived his wonted fires, 
but from the prominent part he took in the educa- 
tion of the people, and the rich harvest that annu- 
ally sprang from the confiscation of his tail-feathers. 
I have seen a picture which well illustrates his high 
position at this era of his history. A flock of 
several of his species were surrounding one some- 
what larger and fatter than themselves. He was 
evidently speaker of an indignation meeting, and 
they were applauding the sentiments he had just 
uttered. Underneath are the words, " Long enough 
have our feathers enriched unofratefril writers. Let 
us rise like one bird and demand our place at the 
banquet of letters." This lofty assumption has, 
however, now lost all its prestige^ the fall of the 
goose was fated to ensue like that of man, and quills 
have for the nonce passed away to " the land where 
the pepper groweth." Nobody uses them now, and, 
though I have heard a stout old fellow who drank a 
deal of port say, that steel pens disagreed with him, 
and that he never could write with them, especially 
after dinner, without feeling a sort of benumbing 
electrical sensation in his right hand and at times 
extending up to his head, for the most part they 
have disappeared from use. 



FEATHERS. 343 

When the goose thus fell from his high estate all 
over the civilized world, and, fr'om being '' the sov- 
ereign'st thing on earth," became a fellow of no 
mark nor likelihood, a certain Monsieur Bardin 
was eno-ao-ed in France in the wholesale manufact- 
ui*e of quills, at Joinville-le-Pont. His business was 
ere long reduced to almost nothing. Being, how- 
ever, a man of great pluck and audacity, as well 
as no little inventive talent, he was not discouraged. 
He at once began to look about him for some possible 
means of using the immense quantity of capital sud- 
denly thrown aside as worthless, but which seemed 
to be available for many objects of both comfort and 
ornament, if one could only devise the means of 
manufacturing them with skill and economy. Since 
that day his efforts have been directed towards this 
sole object, and with such success that he now em- 
ploys a hundred, and at times a hundred and thirty 
workmen. Considering tlie myriad difficulties in 
his way, and that this branch of industry began 
from almost nothing, it must be admitted that this 
is quite a success. At the commencement he lim- 
ited his efforts to making a cheap and popular imita- 
tion of steel pens from quills which were cut by 
machinery. Then, reflecting on the heaps of useless 
debris which gradually accumulated, he turned his in- 
ventive faculties to the rest of the quill. The shin- 
ing outside of the back, fine, light, transparent, and 
withal solid, he tore off, and dying it green or yel- 
low, prepared it for the use of the makers of artifi- 



344 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

cial flowers. It is of this that are formed those 
delicate, elastic leaves and spires of grass which 
one sees dancing in the sunlight on ladies' bonnets. 
Under this comes a harder substance, which has 
almost the stiffness and tenacity of bristles. This 
he prepared for the brush-makers, and they were 
not slow to adopt it, seeing that they could buy it 
at a cheap rate and work it in, when cut into minute 
strips, with the more valuable bristles. These shreds 
are also used by the makers of flowers. From this 
point M. Bardin has gone on, at every step making 
some fresh improvement, until now the more sub- 
stantial portion of the quill enters into a hundred 
branches of such manufactures. 

The feathers, or rather the plume of the quill, 
remained to be appropriated, and here M. Bardin 
found himself long at fault. And yet he perse- 
vered, and though now far from the results he has 
ever aimed at, the future promises well, judging 
from what has been already done. Numerous 
methods of employing this waste material to a cer- 
tain extent have been discovered, and if one shall 
finally appear sufficiently successful to warrant its 
adoption on a large scale, it will be a great blessing 
for humanity. Not only in France, but America, the 
number of fowls that annually die and leave their 
feathers to be thrown away is enormous, and it is 
melancholy to think that a great natural product 
evidently designed by Providence to fill an important 
part in the prosperity, adornment, and support of 



FEATHERS. 345 

our species, should be thus comparatively worthless, 
or, if employed at all, only to shorten our days in 
the form of feather beds. I do not mean this latter 
remark as a joke, and think the truth of it will be 
admitted by any one who has slept, or rather tried 
to do so in vain, on an article of that description in 
a New England country town in August. They 
are destructive both of moral and bodily health, and 
many deplorable violations of the third command- 
ment may be directly traced to this source. The ob- 
ject of M. Bardin has been, — and he sees no reason 
to doubt his ultimate success — to manufacture the 
covering which Nature has so abundantly bestowed 
upon winged creatures, into an equally useful and 
handsome protection for mankind. There seems 
at present no reason why a profitable material 
may not finally be invented from this substance, 
warm as wool, brilliant as silk, and lighter and 
more durable than cotton. It would surpass the 
limits of this chapter if I should attempt to describe 
with any minuteness the progress that has already 
been made, or the various steps by which it has 
been accomplished. They are very creditable to 
the energy and cleverness of their author. M. Bar- 
din began by sewing feathers together in rows, with 
the object of making a garment somewhat like those 
of the ancient Aztecs. Finding but little disposi- 
tion on the part of any of his countrymen to display 
themselves thus attired on the Boulevards, his ready 
genius suggested to him that they would prove an 



346 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

excellent protection for young and delicate plants in 
greenhouses, or glass frames. For this purpose they 
worked to a charm, and horticultural societies every- 
where recommended them. 

The next step was the discovery of feather car- 
pets. To reach this point many difficulties were to 
be overcome, and that on ground entirely untried. 
The article was new, its combination with other 
stuff was novel, and even the machinery must 
be invented by M. Bardin. However, he was 
nothino; daunted, and after trials and efforts that 
would have quite baffled a perseverance less reso- 
lute, he was successful in making a carpet which 
not only never can wear out, but has the additional 
merit of being extremely cheap. The colors which 
it admits are gay, and the patterns, though not very 
elaborate, quite lively in their effect, while there is 
nothing to be feared from moths or water, dast or 
dirt. It is a most interesting spectacle to witness 
the gradual advance of one of these tissues, as it 
passes through the machine at the Exhibition. The 
loom first emplo^^ed by M. Bardin was that of Jac- 
quard. This, however, was found too complicated 
and liable to get out of order. He substituted for 
it a loom of his own invention, so simple that the 
first-comer would hardly need an hour's apprentice- 
ship in order to operate with it effectively. The 
design to be wrouglit out is placed under the woof, 
and the weaver has only to choose from tlie various 
boxes of feathers before him the hues adapted to 



FEATHERS. 347 

the pattern. The carpet Is a little stiff when it 
leaves the loom, but M. Bardin has provided for 
this difficulty bj a process by which it is " duvete^^^ 
that is, changed into the softness of down, and 
has more the aspect of wool, than could possibly 
have been expected from a substance so rigid and 
unmanageable as the plumage of a goose or hen. 

Thus far the promise has been followed by a 
large degree of performance, but M. Bardin is now 
engaged on further discoveries. He claims to have 
invented a process by which feathers can be spun 
into rope, twine, or even thread. This is not yet 
made public, partly because he very naturally wishes 
to retain for himself any advantages that may ac- 
crue from it, partly by reason of certain finishing 
contrivances needed to perfect it. To this he has 
also added an operation for changing, or I might 
more properly say reducing, the foliage of a fowl 
into a single mass of eider-down. It is gray, silky, 
extremely soft to the touch, and even possesses 
that property of heat, which has hitherto been 
supposed to belong more exclusively to the latter 
material than to any other of the same class. And 
after all, the cost of its production is only one tenth 
the present price of eider-down. These are some 
of the results which have been already reached. 
The cost of the experiments made by M. Bardin has 
l)een very great, and he has not spared money in 
doing what he could to bring them to perfection. 
His first carpet was worth 100,000 francs, it is said, 



348 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

and this is not all that he has invested during the 
past twenty years in his praiseworthy and energetic 
efforts. If these sums are not returned to him in 
gold, he will, at least, enjoy the far higher reward 
that comes from the conscientious employment of 
one's best powers for the advantage of his country 
and race, and from the fervent gratitude of thou- 
sands of poor whom he has benefited. Though in 
selecting a subject apparently so uninteresting, I run 
a great risk of wearying my readers, yet it struck 
me that they might pardon the introduction of mat- 
ter which is at least impressive and instructive. It 
is only one of several similar fabrications at the 
Great Exhibition which show in the clearest way 
the beneficent, as well as important, results that 
may follow from well-directed and persistent em- 
ployment of talents, which, though they do not 
amount to genius, are gifted with a practical cast 
which the latter often wants. Hence arises a last- 
ing and abundant gain. 

It is through the influence of examples like these 
that the Great Exhibition Mall exert its broadest 
effect upon the world. So wide is its range and so 
universal its grasp, that many of the results of every 
nation's best mental power and most profitable 
works, are brought prominently before the world. 
And these are quite as obvious in those which con- 
cern the humbler classes, as in those which are 
more especially devoted to the rich and great. The 
rights, as well as the comforts, of the former can no 



FEATHERS. 349 

longer be neglected. They now begin to demand 
the privileges which in Europe have long been due 
and long sought. This demand they can now en- 
force, and emperors and kings at the present make 
a merit of granting that which it would be danger- 
ous to reftise. The servants of industry are becom- 
ing every day a greater power in the land. Napo- 
leon, as well as the more enhVhtened amono; the 
other sovereigns, perceives that to avoid n,ew revo- 
lutions and the wide anarchy of destructive hordes, 
provision must be made for their instruction, and 
enjoyment of the comforts of life. Cheap may be 
their daily requirements and the simple necessities 
of their humble menage^ but they must be good of 
their kind, durable, and healthy. If they can be 
attractive to the eye, so much the better. If they 
can be provided from the people's own resources, 
and their scanty capital be employed for their own 
benefit ; if the devoted talent of one man can do this, 
even if it come only from the invention of a carpet 
of feathers, the result will be creditable to him, val- 
uable for them, and welcomed by every government 
that has the real welfare of its people at heart. I 
trust that M. Bardin will be as successful in his 
attempts as " Ze pere Madeleine " was in his, and 
more than this no one could desire. 

After leaving this part of the Exhibition, I went 
to the English section. While there, I happened to 
cast my eyes upon these familiar lines of Longfellow. 
They were engraved upon one of a collection of 
blocks of boxwood for engravers, which occupied a 



350 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

handsome case, and were most neat and attractive 
specimens of handiwork. 

" Let us do our work as well, 

Both the unseen and the seen, — 
Make the house where Gods may dwell 

Beautiful, entire, and clean." 

They were an expressive comment upon what I had 
just seen, and harmonized well with the tone of 
thought into which I had been led by the sight of 
M. Bardin's humble inventions. They were an 
interesting illustration of the broad sympathy that 
all men feel with the sentiments of truly healthy 
poetry. This is especially noticeable, when a chord 
is struck which vibrates responsive in all hearts, 
as common to our humanity, whatever may be its 
condition. There are many such strains to be found 
in Longfellow, and few li^dng poets offer so many 
evidences of that touch of Nature which makes the 
whole world kin. This was a fresh and gratifying 
proof of his wide-spread influence and real accord 
with the liberal spirit of the age. While I was 
reading this quotation, a large organ near by sud- 
denly began to send forth the inspiriting tones of 
" Fair Harvard." The effect of this upon several 
graduates of that venerable institution who hap- 
pened to be present, can be imagined. Many of my 
readers have, perhaps, witnessed the vivid gymnas- 
tics and vocal demonstrations which are often ex- 
cited by this tune, and I can only say that on this 
occasion, they were repeated with variations. I was 
convinced that good music and muscular Christianity 



FEATHERS. 351 

have mncli in sympatliy. The organist was accom- 
panied by one who played the French horn, or some 
other compHcated arrangement of resounding bass, 
and did his part quite well too. When he had fin- 
ished, I stepped forward and asked him what he had 
just played. He said it was a favorite Irish air, 
very old, but which had of late become quite a fa- 
vorite under the name of " My lodging 's on the 
cold ground." I pitied the respondent from the 
depths of my heart, but after all it was his misfor- 
tune, and not his fault, that he was not a graduate 
of Harvard. I was about to enlighten his igno- 
rance in regard to the Marseillaise of my Alma 
Mater, but reflected that he would be very likely 
to be prejudiced in favor of his own view and said 
nothing. 

The longer I live the more convinced I become 
that there is but little verity in books, and noth- 
ing certain in this world, but death and taxes. It 
is our happy fortune to live in an age of progress, 
and new discoveries daily descend upon us like fall- 
ing stars. How lucky are we to be spared the 
supposititious emotions that so deeply excited our 
fathers. Coleridge never was at Chamonix, nor did 
his dreamy optics ever rest upon the snowy dome 
of Mont Blanc. Hence we can no lon2:er waste 
our sympathies upon his once noble hymn to that 
peak, especially since we are a practical and law- 
abiding people, and in our age every contre-fagon is 
severely punished. " Truth is mighty," and has 
prevailed against Casabianca and Sir John Moore, in 



852 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

spite of the poetical cerements with which they 
had been adorned. Every one knows, nowadays, 
that the former did " go without his father's word," 
and, as to the latter, we did not " bury him darkly 
at dead of night." Julian the Apostate has been 
conclusively proved to have been as faithful as Ab- 
diel ; and Henry the Eighth, as Mr. Froude has 
shown on the most obvious testimony, was a model 
of conjugal fidelity, and bowstringed his numerous 
wives only from the purest and most philanthropic 
motives. Arnold the traitor was a fiery, though 
somewhat eccentric, patriot, who really saved his 
country ; and General Hull a martyr who reluc- 
tantly yielded to the force of circumstances. An 
Andover professor has even brought Judas Iscariot 
again before the tribunal at which all humanity have 
rashly condemned him, and demonstrated that it 
was quite natural for him to act as he did, consider- 
ing the peculiar position in which he was placed. 
As to Sappho, Dr. Welcker, with a tender re- 
gard for her reputation, has shown conclusively 
that, so far from falling in love with Phaon and 
throwing herself from the Leucadian rock, she was 
a highly respectable wife and mother, and never 
took any leap at all, except into matrimony. Pro- 
fessor Renan, after having displayed to an ignorant 
world the real status of Christ and the deluded 
Apostles, has, in the same manner, " rehahilite,^^ 
as he terms it, the Empress Faustina, consort of 
Marcus Aurelius, and compares her spotless and 
virtuous life to that of Marie Antoinette. One of 



FEATHERS. 353 

our countrymen, pestilently inquisitive, and never 
satisfied to leave well enough alone, has just found 
the original score of " Yankee Doodle," and dis- 
covered that it was originally a popular air in the 
Basque provinces and sung by its people long before 
the deluge. " America," or " God save the King," 
as everybody has been informed, was " conveyed " 
by Handel from a song sung by Mad. de Maintenon's 
pupils at St. Cyr, and, if traced back to its origin, 
would finally be found, 1 dare say, snugly hyber- 
nating at the very root of the genealogical tree of 
harmony ; and now it appears that " Fair Harvard " 
was very probably played by Brian Boru on his 
harp to urge his "• skipping kerns " on to battle in 
the tender infancy of Fenianism. With every re- 
spect for abstract truth, I yield unwillingly for the 
most part to the researches which have thus stripped 
from many an idol of the past the drapery with 
which time and poetry have adorned it ; the fastidi- 
ous accuracy of modern days has often substituted 
but a cold and unwelcome skeleton for the attract- 
ive form we once worshipped ; yet in the matter of 
" Fair Harvard " it seems quite probable, to judge 
from its merits, that it dates back to a period far 
more remote than the above ; and I am willing to 
admit from its effect on myself that, " when of old 
the sons of morning sang," this was the strain which 
inspired their " notes angelical," and penetrating 
to the very heaven of heavens, tendered soothing 
melody to the great Author of music Himself. 

23 



CHAPTER XXV. 

THE OFFSPRING OF THE PEN. 

Vast as is the scope of the Great Exhibition, and 
complete as are some of its departments, there are 
others which are conspicuous through their deficien- 
cies. This is especially true in that of the publish- 
ers and booksellers. In our own section, where so 
much might have been done with credit and success, 
the display is by no means what it should be, though 
a few very creditable specimens of the skill of our 
workmen are to be seen, and a copy of the last edi- 
tion of Webster's Dictionary bears ample testimony 
to the resources of the " Riverside Press." This is 
to be regretted, for many of our leading publishers 
within the past few years have made notable ad- 
vances in every direction, and works have appeared 
under their auspices that are fully equal to the finest 
productions of the first European houses. Had a 
variety of these been visible at the Exhibition, even 
if the contribution had cost some little sacrifice on 
the part of the senders, they would have had a ben- 
eficial effect. They would have given us a reputa- 
tion in a quarter where the nation really deserves it, 
and enabled the Americans here to point with pride 



THE OFFSPRING OF THE PEN. 355 

to one more deserving exhibit among our scanty of- 
ferings. This indifference, however, I feel bound to 
admit, is quite universal among all the European 
publishers, in fact more universelle than the Exposi- 
tion itself The great English booksellers, rich with 
the literary triumphs of the last century, and famous 
wherever their language is known, through their 
connection w^ith the most eminent authors of their 
day, have quite ignored the Exhibition ; and the 
same is true of the largest establishments of Ger- 
many, such as those of Brockhaus, Tauchnitz, and 
others. France is well represented in this respect, 
however, as might well have been foreseen, and her 
publishers have added a most fascinating feature to 
the great industrial display. In this the firm of L. 
Hachette & Co. take the lead, and the works they 
exhibit are in many ways superior to anything that 
has yet been seen in their class. They occupy one 
of the large and elegant divisions that are ranged 
on either side of the broad aisle leading from the 
principal entrance of the building to the central 
garden. This they have fitted up with handsome 
book-cases of carved ebony, and faced with plate- 
glass, in which are neatly arranged a large number 
of their latest and best productions. These are 
bound with artistic decoration, and in their illustra- 
tions and type are all that the most fastidious biblio- 
maniac could desire. It is a place where one loves 
to go and linger, till the fading day shows how fast 
the moments have fled ; to return again and again, 



356 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

like Romeo to Juliet, soon as the '' liglit through 
yonder window breaks," and feast both eyes and 
mind. Only the genuine devotee of literature can 
appreciate the luxurious and unending charms of 
such a spot. To contemplate the works of a fa- 
vorite author, glowing with every offering that can 
come from modern talents and refinement ; to turn 
over page after page of paper dehcately tinted ; to 
find the loftiest and most inspiring thoughts, to 
which we have ever looked up with love and ad- 
miration, gleaming upon us anew in characters del- 
icately wrought, like the Pleiades through their 
silver braid ; to see how the clever pencil of the 
appreciative artist has reahzed the bright ideal, and 
quickened the burning words into images delight- 
ful to the eye ; — " He who of these delights can 
judge and spare to interpose them oft, is not un- 
wise." The feeling of a connoissem- of letters 
towards a favorite author is that of a lover for his 
mistress, and when he sees his honors given to the 
world in a form befitting his merits, he feels that 
magnetic glow which ever follows when the pres- 
ence of Genius, the twin sister of Love, for the mo- 
ment kindles'the soul with a spark of its own con- 
tagious fire. Like the rapt seraph, he " adores and 
burns." Says Romeo, — 

" My bounty is as boundless as the sea, 
My love as deep ; the more I give to thee 
The more I have, for both are infinite." 

So boundless, so deep, and so infinite are our love 



THE OFFSPRING OF THE PEN. 357 

and fervor of esteem, when Homer, Dante, Milton, 
appear before us, fresh from the source from which 
their being rose, and through their writings become 
an actual presence. No longer are they to us as to 
the multitude, — cold fictions of antiquity, distant 
and unapproachable, birds of God preserved in the 
amber of the ages, but near and dear, eager to wel- 
come, and drawing us to them by the threefold and 
irresistible cord of learning, love, and poetry. 

The house of Hachette and Co. is really one of 
the great marvels of Paris, and of France as well. 
Its influence is enormous, and every day widely 
extending ; especially in these later years, when a 
great educational movement is going on, and the es- 
tablishment of libraries for the people, in every eom- 
7nune, is rapidly progressing. My readers will have 
some idea of its prominence and importance in this 
country when I inform them that this firm publish 
150 new works every year, and keep in constant 
employ 3000 artists, printers, engravers, and bind- 
ers. They use 160,000 reams of paper annually, 
and the number of pages of printed matter amounts 
to the enormoas figure of 110,000,000. There are 
four partners, and the business is so shared among 
them that the vast business of the house, which 
extends to every quarter of the globe, is carried on 
with the most perfect simplicity and method. The 
books they publish range through all departments 
of science, literature, and art ; and are particularly 
numerous in these branches that relate to element- 



358 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

ary instruction. The school books they issue for 
every class of students are very numerous, as well 
as original in their design ; and there are several that 
might well be introduced into our own dominions. 
In spite of the ideas prevalent in America in regard 
to the backwardness of education and its aids in 
France, there is not a little that might be studied 
with adv^antage even here. This country is not so 
greatly in arrears in such matters as some persons 
think, and the tact of the French is so nice, that 
they need but a slight impulse to improve uj)on the 
best means employed by foreign nations. Fortu- 
nately for the educational interests of the land, 
Messrs. Hachette & Co., who are so deeply inter- 
ested therein, are extremely liberal in their senti- 
ments, and disposed to help to the best of their 
ability all means that can be properly used to pro- 
mote them. A few days ago I was shown, with 
great courtesy, over their establishment on the 
Boulevard St. Germain, here in Paris, and was 
greatly pleased, as well as impressed, at what I saw. 
I was convinced that the education of the masses 
could not fail in hands so determined to forward it, 
and so largely pro^dded with the means of carrying 
out their intentions. Of a single elementary work 
lately published by the firm, and designed to teach 
pupils to read manuscript of every sort through litho- 
graphic copies in many styles, I saw a single edi- 
tion of 50,000 all ready to go forth to difi'erent parts 
of France. It formed a solid pile of instruction ten 



THE OFFSPRING OF THE PEN. 359 

feet square and over twenty feet liigli. I went on 
and on, through room after room and gallery after 
gallery, till I reached the great cellar, extendhig 
through the whole buildmg, which was filled to its 
utmost capacity with the various publications of the 
firm that already form part of the standard litera- 
ture of the country, and are incessantly called for 
throughout the empire. I was struck with the per- 
fect order and systematized regularity that every- 
where reigned. There was no noise, no confusion. 
Large tables were covered with piles of books await- 
ing transmission, and clerks in numbers were glid- 
ing rapidly to and fro to fill other orders. Every- 
thing was done in almost complete silence ; hardly 
a voice could be heard except in an undertone, and 
everything moved on with the precision of nicely 
adjusted machinery. And yet, in spite of the sim- 
plicity everywhere noticeable, there is a large de- 
gree of administrative power and capacity needed 
to reach this result. Were the leader of this indus- 
trial army to fail in his duties for a single day, it 
would at once be obvious that something was wrong, 
and many of even the minutest details would soon 
feel the defection. 

The only part of the establishment I saw^ was the 
warehouse and salesrooms. The workmen em- 
ployed in the various branches are scattered over the 
city, in different directions, and the printing, stereo- 
typing, engraving, and binding are carried on in de- 
tached buildings. A portion only of the nicest im- 



860 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

pressions of their choice engravings are done here. 
I was amazed at the variety of subjects, style, and 
price in the thousands of vohimes here collected. 
The former range from the simplest primer for infant 
minds, such as Shenstone's " busy dame " might 
have used in the education of those " unruly 
brats," whom she was wont to tame with the birch, 
to the Inferno of Dante, superbly illustrated by the 
pencil of Gustave Dore. The first is published at 
the moderate price of five soits, the latter can be 
bought at an expense of one hundred francs. Of 
the former, under the title of " The Child's First 
Book," I was informed that they sold 200,000 per 
annum, which shows either an enormous number of 
" unruly brats," or great powers of destruction on 
the part of those that exist. Here were not only 
all the works of the great French authors in every 
branch of literature, but many old friends from 
Ancrlo-Saxondom in a new ^arb. Translations of 
Shakespeare, Milton, and Byron were observable, 
side by side with the modern classics of Macaulay 
and Dickens. All were printed with spotless ac- 
curacy on thick and handsome paper. And yet on 
turning over the pages, and casting my eye here and 
there upon familiar passages, I was struck with their 
unnatural aspect, and the loss they had undergone 
in leavino- their own mao;nificent orio-inal toncrue. 
At the sio^ht of " Midsummer NiMit's Dream " in 
French, I could not help exclaiming, " Bless thee, 
Bottom ! bless thee, thou art translated." Among 



THE OFFSPRING OF THE PEN. 861 

others Douglas Jerrold seemed strangely droll, and 
the famous " Caudle Lectures ^' hardly knew them- 
selves under their new title of Sous les Rideaux. 
Mr. Caudle, the long-suffering martyr of domestic 
woes, was transformed into M. Panade^ and a little 
extract I made from the preface will serve to show 
how greatly the spirit of the work had disappeared : 
" Recueil de sermons nocturyies prononcees pendant le 
cours de trente ans par 3Ime. Marguerite Panade et 
subis par son mari Job.^'' The w^ell-known tenth 
lecture on the subject of shirt-buttons is entitled, 
"IZ est question des boutons de chemise de M. Pa- 
nade^''' and so it goes on through the whole work. 
Our New England authors w^ere represented by 
Messrs. Hawthorne and Hildreth, Mrs. Stowe and 
Miss Cummins. Of the first I was pleased to see 
translations of nearly all his writings. That wonder- 
ful masterpiece, the " House of the Seven Gables," 
under the title of La 3faison aux Sept Pignons, was 
got up with great neatness and finish. I sought out 
a familiar and favorite chapter, and was gratified 
with the fidelity of the translation, though in French 
the thoucrlits no longer seemed to breathe, or the 
words to burn. I was not, however, pleased to no- 
tice that a considerable portion had been omitted. 
It was the chapter in which the author, with luxuri- 
ant and finely-drawn humor, gives the history, and 
delineates the peculiar features of the Pyncheon 
breed of hens, where the quaint appearance and 
hereditary oddities of that ancient fowl with one 



362 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

chicken, " the plodding pattern " of dear, forlorn old 
Hepzibah herself, are portrayed with that inimitable 
nicety and truth, which could flow only from a per- 
fect knowledge of, and sj^mpathy with the hen char- 
acter. As I read, her husband came up vividly be- 
fore me with all his long-descended pride ; and in 
spite of his foibles, his lofty strut, his rusty and an- 
cient spurs, and his hoarse crow, as if he had been 
born in the time of Chaucer and used his voice in- 
cessantly ever since, " this bird of dawning " still 
seemed to sing harmoniously, and to compare favor- 
ably as a son of New England with the more j:>ar- 
venu pretensions of his Gallic rivals. Dignified as 
he was, and conscious of the blood of the old judge 
coursing through his veins, I don't believe the Pyn- 
cheon cock ever forgot " to crow in the morn," ac- 
cording to the good old custom of his representative 
predecessor in the distant time of " the house that 
Jack built." But I never heard a rooster crow in 
Paris, and I fancy his species have no sense of re- 
sponsibility in this matter ; certainly they have no 
such " spur to prick the sides of their intent," as his 
transatlantic coushi finds in that venerable household 
ballad. 

I can speak from experience on this subject, for 
I have often taken a peculiar pleasure in watching 
the habits of these domestic attaches. What Haw- 
thorne says is peculiarly true, and no observer can 
fail to find abundant amusement in studying their 
piquant and humorous fancies. Nothing can bt- 



THE OFFSPRING OF THE PEN. 363 

more entertaining than the serious drollery of their 
looks, and the odd variety of their manners and 
attitudes. In Paris I was especially favored with a 
little menao-erie of these feathered utilitarians, that 
often disported themselves under my window with a 
sedate tranquillity which was quite imposing. I 
could see them without exertion from the balcony, 
and invariably found them an instructive amuse- 
ment. They were the same in number and size 
with the Pyncheon family, and to all appearance 
boasted as lofty and spotless a lineage. The larger 
of the two 2)etite dowagers betrayed her aristocratic 
origin with every movement. Stepping over the 
ground on the tips of her toes, as if she spurned it ; 
now sensible of an impending egg, and jqI., with 
conscious pride, hesitating before she confided so 
important a trust to the rude and unfeeling world ; 
then solemnly strutting with a fastidious cluck up to 
a dainty bit, as if about to do it an honor by de- 
vouring it : now perking up her head with a cocotte- 
ish air, as of one who had not yet forgotten the 
fascinations of time long past ; her every movement 
and expression was a quiet and effective satire on the 
manners and habits of the nobler bipeds about her. 
As for the head of this stately family, nothing could 
surpass his ancestral hauteur. His pomposity was 
superb, and the grandeur with which, from time to 
time, he stood up on high and tossed his scarlet 
crest, suggested the noble bearing of Henr^^ IV. at 
Ivrv. And all this was done in dignified silence. 



364 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

He never crowed, and Lis harem were like him. 
Beyond a quiet and well-bred cackle, there was 
nothing that indicated the slightest feeling or emo- 
tion. They were all evidently guided by an inborn 
and hereditary etiquette, which could not, for a 
moment, be gviilty of any gaucherie. 

But to return to my subject. Of late years 
Messrs. Hachette & Co. have made themselves 
famous in France and England, as the publishers 
of a number of works of standard value with illus- 
trations by Gustave Dor^. Of the latter's extraor- 
dinary talents it is hardly necessary that I should 
speak. r have seen a number of his original 
sketches, and was surprised to notice how vigorously 
they were done, and at the same time how much 
ability was demanded on the part of the engraver, 
in order to transmit them to the world with the life 
and spirit of the original. They are almost invaria- 
bly on wood, being more effectively portrayed in 
this way than any other, for the broad strokes and 
characteristic touches of the artist can be preserved 
far more truthfully upon this substance, than 
through the finer and more delicate rendering of 
steel plates. Messrs. Hachette & Co. have, I pre- 
sume, the ablest corps of wood-engravers in the 
world. They not only foresaw the wonderfiil de- 
velopment that this branch of art was to take, but 
aided it by every means in their power. They are 
now publishing "La Fontaine's Fables," with de- 
signs by Dore, of which 35,000 copies of each weekly 



THE OFFSPRING OF THE PEN. 865 

number have already been sold, and some of these 
are marvels of skill in their faithful and enercretic 
delineation of the original sketches. The number 
of illustrated works sent out by this house is al- 
ready very great, and the efforts of its members to 
serve their patrons are well appreciated, for I 
notice them everywhere. They are now issuing a 
serial called Le Tour du Monde, of Avhich 20,000 
jjer annum are purchased by the public, and I am 
not surprised, for the beauty of the designs is really 
extraordinary. There are numbers of admirable 
artists of this class in Germany and England, and 
the illustrations of that popular periodical, Der 
Grartenlauhe, are excellent specimens of engraving 
on Avood, but I have never seen anything in this 
line that equaled the best efforts of Pannemaker- 
Doms, Bertrand, Gauchard-Brunier, and other of 
the best artists employed by Messrs. Hachette & 
Co. At the Exhibition are exposed some of the 
most valuable of their publications, among which 
is a copy of that charming work of Michelet, 
i' Oiseau. I have some acquaintance with luxuri- 
ous books, but I have seldom met with one which 
I felt more disposed to fall down and worship, 
than this. The designs are by Giacomelli. They 
are profuse in number and most fitly adapted by 
their rich fancy and truthful delicacy, to interpret 
the eloquent and sympathetic words of the author. 
Those who have read Michelet's writings on natural 
history, are well aware that they need no eulogy at 



366 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

this day. They are known and admired wherever 
lovers of this subject and students of animated na- 
ture are to be found. But the chmax of our admi- 
ration is reached when the printer and the engraver 
devote their best parts to worthily offer them to the 
world, and cunning artists cull from every phase 
of Nature choice sketches for their embellishment. 
Of the merits of this book in its ordinary form, 
I presume many of my readers are aware. Doubt- 
less they have lingered with delight over its nervous 
and fluent descriptions of the feathered tribes, given 
with all the glow of enthusiasm arising from in- 
born sympathy and enhanced by the abundant im- 
ages suggested by an appreciative mind and a ductile 
fancy. Every phase of bird life is portrayed with 
the pen of a writer quick to perceive, and as famil- 
iar with the demeanor and habits of these tenants of 
the air, as if he had held intercourse with them in 
their most secluded retreats, and become possessed 
of their inmost secrets. To these attractions are 
added, in the present edition, hundreds of designs, 
which present to the eye every form of existence, 
both animate and inanimate, that could be drawn 
from the forest and the garden, and fitted to enliven 
the text. We see the great albatross on the sea- 
shore in his wonted plumage, with giant rocks and 
towering precipices around him, beating the surges 
of high waves with his broad wings, or following the 
wake of doomed vessels like the fateful bird of the 
ancient mariner. From these we turn to a seques- 



THE OFFSPRING OF THE PEN. 367 

tered grove of picturesque and venerable beeches, 
each reposing in the quiet majesty of vegetable 
grandeur, in whose mossy boughs wood pigeons are 
building their nests and rejoicing in the tranquil 
happiness that comes from instinctive and untainted 
love. Here the sinless pair are sitting side by side 
on a shady limb, or again winnowing the air, they 
bring home, like olive-branches to their ark, the 
materials for their habitation. Everywhere through- 
out the book are lavishly provided such sketches as 
these, done with a tenderness and skill worthy 
of the subject, and obviously the gift of an artist 
entirely devoted to it. In this way, — who shall 
deny it ? — the ideas of the writer are more clearly 
impressed upon the mind, longer remembered, and 
more deeply enjoyed, while the designer himself 
gains fame through his nimble and tasteful pencil, 
and thus the benefit to both these and the world is 
manifold. That they are done only on a block of 
wood, — the growth of the forests that these ef- 
forts partly, at least, serve to commemorate, and 
that most appropriately, — only adds to their value ; 
and it is far more to the credit of the engraver, if 
he be able with his burin to transfer to its texture 
the most subtle touches of the draughtsman's hand, 
the buoyant plumage of the birds, the graceful spray 
of the trees, and the lithe undulations of hanoino; 
vines. The same remarks are true in a greater or 
less degree when applied to other illustrated works 
of eminent authors. And not onlv these, but less 



868 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

pretentious writings will often tlius be read by those 
who otherwise would never look at them. 

It is in connection with the productions of Gus- 
tave Dord that Messrs. Hachette & Co. have ob- 
tained their greatest reputation outside of France. 
Their editions of Dante, Chateaubriand, Milton, and 
other prominent authors, with sketches by him. 
have given them a wide-spread fame. Many of 
these are admirable, and that not only for their 
originality of conception, but for their extraordinary 
variety. Many, if not most of my readers, are 
somewhat familiar with the striking and often gro- 
tesque productions of Dord's brain, but in the edi- 
tion of La Fontaine above mentioned his inventive 
faculties have displayed new powers, and attempted 
subjects before untried. As a designer of animals, 
he has found in these popular and deservedly famous 
Fables a field of labor which he has cultivated with 
great success. In rats and frogs, as well as birds, 
he is especially excellent, and one would Infer that 
he had spent a life-time in the study of their forms 
and habits. Such engravings as those accompany- 
ing the well known fables of " The Frogs desiring 
a King," "Who shall bell the Cat?" and "The 
Lark and her Young Ones," can hardly be praised 
too much. In the first is displayed a most remarka- 
ble degree both of expression and character. Each 
animal has its own individuality, as when alive, and 
no frog precisely resembles any other either in 
attitude or shape. So in the second, the same 



THE OFFSPRING OF THE PEN. 369 

knowledge of the rat nature, and the same genius 
for portraying it in every variety of aspect, is con- 
spicuous. An old rat, a hoary sinner evidently, the 
Ulysses of his race, who has obviously learnt a 
thing or two from his experience and shows it in his 
long gray whiskers and cunning eyes, has just been 
addressing his fellow marauders from the top of a 
large tub or vat. In conclusion, as a grand climax 
of his remarks and a clincher which no one can 
answer, he holds out the bell. The expression and 
attitudes of his audience are a study of great profit 
and amusement. The row of fat and sedate old 
citizens who remain quietly in their seats and merely 
interchange significant glances with each other; 
the younger and more agile ones who, like Lord 
Brougham, never sit down, but incessantly skip 
about and chatter ; those who have lost their tails 
in traps, but still have gained little wisdom thereby ; 
these and many others are represented with a vivid 
accuracy, and at the same time a quiet satire, the 
more effective from the general tone and moral of 
the fable, that are really irresistible. And even 
here the artist has introduced his favorite contrasts 
of light and sliade ; and a broad band of radiance, 
sloping down from the window of the garret, where 
the solemn council is held, greatly increases the 
effect of the whole design. 

It may, perhaps, be urged that a French artist 
living in Paris might be expected to excel in delin- 
eating rats and frogs, if he could succeed in any- 
24 



870 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

tning of the kind. There is really some basis of 
truth in this, for M. Dore has only to visit the abat- 
toirs^ or slaughtering-houses, in the suburbs, or the 
sewers, in order to find the former in immense num- 
bers, while he can see the latter any morning at the 
great market, in the same varied shapes and atti- 
tudes as those in which he presents them, and as 
vast in multitude, too. In other respects, however, 
he finds every provision in his native city and vicin- 
ity for studying the infinite phases of animal and 
vegetable creation. At the pubHc nurseries, where 
flowers and shrubs are kept for the great fetes^ are 
countless specimens and marvelous of the palm and 
the banana, the bamboo and the papyrus, and almost 
every other rare and beautiful exotic. The pleas- 
ure grounds around and in the city, and in the Bois 
de Boulogne especially, are enlivened with thousands 
of trees of every size and species, from the ginko 
of Japan to the giant Deodara of the Himalayas. 
At the Jardin des Pla7ites and the Jardin d'AccU- 
matation are kept an army of almost every created 
thing that 

" With head, hands, wings, or feet pursues its way, 
Or swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies." 

Hence it is that M. Dore, who has never been 
out of France, except a short trip to Spain, finds 
ample material for his sketches, though the wonder- 
ful portrayal of tropical scenery would almost neces- 
sitate the belief that he had himself bathed in the 
shaded lagoon across which Chactas and Atala are 



THE OFFSPRING OF THE PEN. 371 

swimming, or pitched his tent among the gnarled 
and weird roots of those cedars of Lebanon which 
he has so impressively transferred to his sketch- 
book. His combination of the features of any land- 
scape, and the wonderful way in which they are 
made to harmonize, arise from his own masterly 
genius and an apprehension which in him is instinct- 
ive. At once, from a few details, the whole springs 
up vividly and completely before liim, and he has 
only to render the glowing semblance. He is an- 
other example of what Ruskin has said in regard 
to every great genius, actually discerning the men- 
tal image clear and bright of that which he de- 
scribes. As says Dante in the " Inferno " : — 

" I truly saw, and still I seem to see it, 

A trunk without a head walk in like manner 

As walked the others of the mournful herd." 

The same was, doubtless, true of Milton, when to 
his mind's eye appeared the lazar-house " wherein 
were laid numbers of all diseased," — 

" While over them triumphant Death his dart 
Shook, but delayed to strike, though oft invoked." 

And so of Shakespeare, when he says through the 
mouth of Oberon, — 

" That very time I saw, but thou could' st not, 
Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
Cupid all armed." 

It has been the fortunate talent of Gustave Dore to 
give these visions of the clear spirit " a local habita- 
tion and a name," and it is such a capacity as few 
have inherited. 



372 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

Having watched him in the act of preparing one 
of his designs, I can testify to the boldness and 
rapidity with which these are done, and the entire 
want of any artifice. Often he takes a prepared 
block of the size of the intended sketch, and with 
a little India ink and white paint, or '-'- gouache^^ at 
once completes it for the engravers without any in- 
termediate use of the pencil. While he is doing 
this his absorption is perfect, and his motions ex- 
tremely quick. The image is already before him, 
and, like Michel Angelo, he labors with fiery energy 
to fix it. The nervous touch of genius thrills along 
his arm, and infuses its most delicate and evanescent 
behests into his fingers. I saw a landscape just 
finished in this impetuous way, and it required only 
three hours to complete it. And yet there it was, 
a perfect transcript of Nature reposing in impress- 
ive truth upon what but so short time before was a 
simple block of box-wood. It represented a forest, 
with the mild glow of evening lingering in the 
background, and gilding with the purity of its light 
the rugged boles of the trees. Each trunk was an 
individual existence, and had taken its owm peculiar 
features from the soil, which, covered with new- 
fallen and feathery snow, lay beneath it. In front 
was an open space, with one tree prostrate, upon 
which sat a solitary figure, "remote, inaccessible, 
friendless, alone." It needed no description to show 
the meaning of this scene ; no poetry could elevate 
it or deepen its impressiveness. There sat the un- 



THE OFFSPRING OF THE PEN. 373 

happy wanderer, his misery plainly speaking from a 
few dexterous touches that alone formed his features, 
and in my mind there he will ever remain. 

The lines in this picture are broad and free, and 
given with an energy and boldness that prove how 
distinct must have been the conception in the 
artist's brain. And yet the effects produced seem 
almost miraculous. Examined closely they are mere 
blotches, while at a distance they blend into the 
very truth of Nature. His works are thus difficult 
to engrave with success, and Messrs. Hachette & 
Co. employ upon them only their best workmen. 
But these are true artists in their way, and have a 
nice perception of the beauties of the designs, and 
the consequent care and skill required of them. 
Long experience has greatly added to their capaci- 
ties in this regard, and now no engravers can be 
found to equal them. It is owing to this talent of 
theirs and their sympathy with the designer, that 
the public are so fortunate as to be able to enjoy the 
works of Dore in such perfection. 

I have neither space nor time for an elaborate 
critique upon the extraordinary genius of Gustave 
Dore, but will simply devote a few lines to a pro- 
duction that I saw a few days ago at his studio, and 
which I think is unknown to the public. It is a 
scene from the Russian Campaign, and gives one a 
most vivid and heart-rending idea of its horrors. 
What these were I have been told by those who 
shared them, in addition to the accounts in print, 



374 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

which are for the most part not exaggerated. To 
these descriptions this sketch lends an additional 
element of horror, and brings before the mind, with 
a shuddering dread, those events which the progress 
of beneficent time has already done much towards 
covering with the veil of the past. A broad waste 
of mieven country lies covered with snow as far as 
the eye can reach, and its dead desolation is in- 
creased by a leaden, sunless sky. Far away in the 
long perspective appear the retreating hosts, gradu- 
ally diminishing to the faintest specks on the edge 
of the horizon, and looking like the funeral proces- 
sion of mighty, though thwarted ambition. Above 
them, in irregular squadrons, are seen myriads of 
carrion crows and vultures, with heavy and re- 
morseless flight ever accompanying tlie invaders, 
and awaiting, like fated avengers, the banquet of 
death. In the foreground are the wrecks of battle, 
partly concealed by snow ; cannons, muskets, gun- 
carriages, and an ambulance full of the once 
wounded, but now dead soldiers, frozen stark and 
stiff. Heaped together in every phase of starvation, 
despair, and dying struggles, their conveyance seems 
a movable tomb. To the right is another wagon, 
without a covering, in which a few wretches, with 
despair in their faces, are fighting against a group 
of Cossacks for the faint remnants of life that are 
left them. The three horses are gaunt and bony 
skeletons. One has already fallen ; another, with 
upturned head, opened mouth, and a loud neigh of 



THE OFFSPRING OF THE PEN. 375 

torture, is just receiving in his side a Cossack spear ; 
the third, trembhng with weakness and fright, can 
hardly remain erect. The attitudes and expression 
of the victims thus hopelessly defending themselves 
to the last, are wonderful examples of the artist's 
skill in delineating what his unlimited imagination 
has so graphically conceived. Wounded, his head 
bound in rags, an officer barely protects himself 
with his sword. Others are using their pistols, and 
again others, their countenances clouded with the 
shadow of death, and too weak to raise an arm, 
have throw^n themselves back to die. The impres- 
sion left upon the mind by a work like this, is 
almost fearful. It presents for a perpetual remem- 
brance and in one group, the tragic woes of a life- 
time, and the united agonies of a whole war. Upon 
it no one can look without a deep, yet strangely 
fascinating horror, and it should have some influ- 
ence, even here in Paris, towards clouding those 
dreams of military glory which are ever the great 
weakness of the French. But it will not, nor would 
a million such pictures hung up at every street cor- 
ner. To-morrow, if necessary, they would gladly 
embark upon a new Russia or a new Mexico, and 
trust to fortune and their swords for the result. 

In addition to their other wide range of subjects, 
Messrs. Hachette & Co. have just brought out a 
work of more practical and utilitarian cast than most 
of their publications. It is a new cookery book by 
M. Gouffe, head cook, or " offlcier de louche^^^ as he 



376 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

is termed by his wealthy and aristocratic patrons 
of the Jockey Club here in Paris. It is elegantly 
gotten up, and I should think the sight of it would 
make Careme and Brillat Savarin eager to return 
to the world. I do not profess much knowledge of 
or interest in the subject of which this work treats, 
but I cannot help admiring the style in which it is 
carried out. Here every process concerned in the 
preparation of food, from the first crude beginnings 
to the last elaborate effort of the chef de la haute cui- 
sine^ is explained with minuteness and profuse illus- 
tration. The aid of chromo-lithography has been 
employed in the larger plates, and with great suc- 
cess. Beef, poultr}^, and dainty made-dishes of every 
variety are represented in their natural colors, as 
ready for the spit, or the table. These are triumphs 
in their way, and their correctness is remarkable. 
Each design was sketched from the original object 
in the kitchen of the Jockey Club, and then painted 
in oil, from which it was transferred thus faithfully 
to paper through the wonders of colored lithog- 
raphy. These are accompanied by numerous 
smaller cuts, which are abundantly employed in aid 
of the text. Many of these are perfect little gems. 
Here are minute instructions in regard to the 
method of peeling truffles, the way to arrange a 
pyramid of lobsters, croquettes of beef, and garni- 
tures, like submarine landscapes, if I may be al- 
lowed the bull, composed of mushrooms, olives, and 
cockscombs. Even for a work of this description 



THE OFFSPRING OF THE PEN. 37T 

the firm have employed their best artists. I was 
gratified to learn that a translation of this is to be 
published in English ; and though the cost, which is 
twenty-five francs, will place it beyond the reach 
of all but the wealthy, yet it will prove both prof- 
itable and attractive to those who can afford to 
buy it. 

The house of Hachette & Co. was founded in 
1826, and from small beginnings has gradually at- 
tained to its present vast development. Its found- 
er, Louis Christophe Francois Hachette, lately de- 
ceased, was a thoroughly representative man, of 
immense energy, and untiring devotion to the ob- 
jects he had in view ; he allowed no obstacle to 
thwart his progress. The motto chosen by him at 
the commencement. Sic quoque doceho, showed his 
principal aim, the education of the people. And 
when the fullness of years and honors attended him 
to his final rest, he slept the sleep of the faithful 
Christian and true friend of his race. The lit- 
erary, classical, and scientific publications published 
by him were everywhere disseminated throughout 
Europe. They were to be found in every public 
and private institution. Under his vigorous and 
thrifty enterprise, new and valuable editions of all 
the ancient authors were issued ; while improved 
dictionaries, — the fruit of years of toil, — new 
systems of instruction, prepared with careful and 
sympathetic interest, reviews, educational maga- 
zines, and many other proofs of M. Hachette's zeal 



378 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

in behalf of knowledge, for years testified far and 
near to his liberal principles and earnest longing for 
the advancement of his countrymen. His succes- 
sors, and former partners, Messrs. Breton and Tem- 
pher, with whom have lately become associated his 
two sons, Messrs. Alfred and George Hachette, are 
thoroughly following out the broad and noble plans 
of then- founder. They have always kept pace 
with the slow but steady progress of public in- 
struction, and especially within the last few years 
have lent their aid with great success to the plans 
of M. Duruy, the Minister of that Department of 
State. It is impossible to avoid the expression of 
one's admiration for the triumph of principles so 
liberal, so honorable, and so persistently carried out 
in. spite of all impediments. A leading publisher in 
general does not find his position by any means a 
bed of roses. Acting as the means of communi- 
cation between authors and their readers — the first 
often fastidious, the last always exacting — he fi-e- 
quently stands, as it were, between two fires, and 
finds a demand for all his best faculties to keep 
possession of the field. When to this original em- 
barrassment is added a vast and irrowinoj business 
and the management of great moneyed interests, 
it will be easily understood what complications may 
repeatedly arise. 

Our praise may well be awarded to a firm, like 
Messrs. Hachette & Co., who for half a century 
have managed ever increasino; interests with ever 



THE OFFSPRING OF TEE PEN. 379 

increasing skill, till tliey have reached a position 
which they can occupy unchallenged by any rival, 
and heightened by the inward consciousness that it 
has been gained by meritorious devotion to a noble 
cause, — the education of the masses. In the pres- 
ent day this has brought with it a well deserved 
reward ; for the progress of our species, thus aided 
by guiding zeal and forethought, has refined every 
nobler foculty and increased the power of mental 
enjo;)mient. The offspring begotten of the pen in a 
past generation have now become the progenitors 
of a race more glorious than themselves ; and hu- 
manity, adopting them into their hearts, has thus 
proved not ungrateful to those who gave them birth. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE LITERARY AMPHITRYON. 

When M. Soyer, the Head Centre of the Reform 
Club below stairs, and the benevolent mventor of 
portable kitchens for the British army in the Crimea, 
lost his wife — for even orreat cooks are in the roll of 
common men in this respect, and lose their wives, 
their places, and their tempers, like ordinary mortals 
— he was inconsolable. His attachment for her had 
been tender, tender as one of his own beefsteaks, 
and in all his troubles he had been accustomed to 
find in her a willing and eager aide de cuisine. If 
his inspiration flickered for a moment like a dying 
bougie^ and then went out, leaving him in culinary 
darkness ; if a dindon en daube failed to blossom into 
a delicacy fit for Apicius, or a ragout of most exquisite 
invention, instead of appearing to titillate the palate 
like the very L^ Allegro of dishes, came up heavy 
and indigestible as the last dregs of the Tupperian 
swamp, he did not commit hari-kari forthwith, like 
Vatel, the great chef of Louis XIV., when the fish 
failed to arrive in time, or throw himself headlong 
into the coal-hole, moaning, — 

" Oh would I were dead now, 
Or up in my bed now, 



THE LITERARY AMPHVTRYON. 381 

To cover my head now, 
And have a good cry," — 

but more wisely simmered his sobs like pancakes in 
her assuaging tears, and dissolved his griefs in the 
new receipts which she helped him — " Ah ! quelle 
douce reciprocite'^ — to devise. He thus found 
comfort for past sorrows, and hope for the future. 
Being anxious to do justice to her memory through 
a monument of floury whiteness, he asked a mem- 
ber of the club whose digestion he superintended, 
who w^as well-known for his wit, to write an epitaph 
which should properly set forth her virtues, that 
she mio'ht not lead these o;races to the "rave and 

leave the world no copy. Mr. replied that he 

was all unused to gilding tombstones, and had given 
quite a different range to his ideas for the most part, 
but still was willing to do his best, and then asked 
him how he thought " Soyez tj^anquille " would 
answer. I do not know whether these words were 
ever placed over the remnants of the unfortunate 
deceased, — doubly unfortunate if they had been ; 
but as that immortal work, " The Shilling Cookery 
for the People " appeared not long after her depart- 
ure, I presume M. Soyer took refuge in an exalted 
style of literary labor as a relief to his loneliness. 
There, as any one can read, the letters addressed 
to his cliere Eloise^ testify better than any epitaph 
the depth of his attachment, and the sincerity of his 
grief, while they show the poetical thoughts that 
can be made to cluster around even so prosaic a 



882 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

subject as a " toad-in-the-hole batter." They are 
worthy of one who proved so ardent a disciple of 
the author of Meditatmis de Gastronomie Transcen- 
dente! Abelard and he will go down to posterity 
together through the touching epistles that were 
wrung from them ; one by disappointed love, and 
the other by the stern dispensation of a " cuisine 
seineuse.'''' 

Baron Brisse, the originator of this last phrase, 
and inheritor of the mantle that fell fi'om the great 
Soyer, has come to grief. The Apiciu.3 of Paris no 
longer contributes to La Liberie those damty menus 
which have for so many months daily graced its 
columns, and saved its readers the trouble of takmg 
thought for the morrow in the preparation of their 
dinners. Le Siecle says the reason of this hiatus was 
the indigestion suffered by those who carried the 
Baron's suggestions into practice. The truth how- 
ever is, that a letter bearing his signature appeared 
in the principal journal of the wine-producers, calling 
upon them to send their best samples to a series of or- 
gies held by him, and styled Diners de Baron Brisse. 
It concluded with the remark that " the priest must 
live by the offerings on the altar." On seeing this 
the guileless and consistent Gu'ardin waxed wroth, 
and gave the writer a curt dismissal. The latter 
now says that the missive sent to the 3Ioniteur 
Vinicole was a forgery, and writes to all the papers 
to inform them of the fact, adding that he shall re- 
sort to the courts for redress from the impudent 



THE LITERARY AMPHITRYON. 383 

perpetrator. La Liberie publishes this contradiction, 
but apparently is skeptical on the subject, for it adds 
thereto the following observation, which can hardly 
be called complimentary : " Baron Brisse says that 
the letter imputed to him was forged ; this will be 
shown by the result of the action brought against the 
forger, if forger there be." It is to be hoped, for the 
sake of that cuisine serieuse of which he is the high- 
priest, that he was more successful in his action 
than the elder Dumas, who has just been obliged to 
pay the costs of his suit against the photographers 
who had exhibited him and the Menken in all the 
shop windows in a variety of affectionate attitudes, 
all more or less improper, and suggesting an old 
Othello with a dubious Desdemona. 

Being thus, like his famous predecessor, the victim 
of misfortune. Baron Brisse — Baron Sans- Argent, 
as one of the most prominent of his affectionate 
competitors one day styled him to me — has fol- 
lowed his example, and taken refuge in the flowing 
pen. He has just started a paper on his own ac- 
count, to which, with becoming modesty, he gives 
his own name. At the top of the first page, in let- 
ters as large as its breadth will admit, are the words 
Le Baron Brisse. Under these inspiring characters 
are a row of saucepans, a bottle of champagne, a 
tureen of soup, sending up a cloud of incense in the 
new editor's honor, a defunct turkey, smilingly 
awaiting the epicurean embalmment that the Baron 
will doubtless give it before placing it in the tomb of 



384 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

its predecessors, and various other " offerings on 
the altar." In front of all is a flowing beaker of 
that liquor, doubtless, of which he requested the 
wine-growers to send him their choicest samples. 
The paper appears every Sunday, and costs three 
cents per number. It contains eight pages, with 
two broad columns on each. The opening sounds 
well, and savors both of calm philosophy and fierce 
defiance. '-'- Comhien il est bon dCttre chez soil''' — 
" How good it is to be at home ! " This may be 
regarded as a taunt flung by the David of the press 
at the Goliath who has insulted him, or as an ex- 
pression of deep contentment, like the inscription on 
Ariosto's house at Ferrara : ^'- Parva sed apta mihi.'^ 
Like the motto which I once saw over the door of 
a Dutch burgomaster's tea-garden near Amsterdam, 
— " The Flesh-pots of Egypt," — it may also be 
designed to suggest the comfortable delights to be 
found within. A little farther the Baron says, 
" Before its birth the child which I have christened 
with my name was devoted to the ladies. It will 
-svear their colors, and they never will have a slave 
more humble or more faithful. I place it under 
their care, that they may protect it in case of 
need." Could any thing be more gallant ? On the 
next page we notice a column having the title 
" Cuisine Classique.^^ Let not this, however, excite 
a shudder among those of my readers who have 
feasted at the spread in the manner of the ancients, 
set forth in " Peregrine Pickle." Here are no Roman 



THE LITERARY AMPHITRYON. 385 

abominations, but an appetizing banquet for thirsty 
people, a chain of palatial melody in long links of 
protracted sweetness, from a dish bearing the un- 
pretending name of Potage a la By-isse to Timbale 
de gaufres garnie cfune mousse aux /raises. The 
latter I am not familiar with, but as it purports to be 
" a kettle-drum of wafers adorned with a lather of 
strawberries," it must be a stunner. I should 
fancy it as effective a conclusion to the entertain- 
ment as the last act of Hamlet to that tragedy. 

I trust to be excused for giving so many extracts 
from the new journal, but this " lord paramount of 
the dripping-pan " is a representative man in Paris 
just at present, and everything he does or says 
bears a certain importance. On the fifth page ap- 
pears an illustration of his public spirit and w^illing- 
ness to sacrifice himself for the good of the world. 
He says, " Messrs. E. Dumeril and E. Bouvier, man 
ufacturers of pipes at Saint Omer, have written me, 
under date of June 11, begging me to allow them 
to reproduce my head in the shape of earthen pipes, 
which, they tell me, are called for by a world — 
monde — of smokers. Very flattering — granted." 
I am no smoker myself, but it strikes me that an 
apt addition to such pipes could be made by inscrib- 
ing on their stems Franklin's short and compre- 
hensive definition of a fishing-pole. In the sec- 
ond number, the Baron, waxing gross with success, 
does not hesitate to heap fresh ignominy upon the 
unhappy Vatel, of whom I spoke above. " He 
25 



386 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

was called great by some persons ; he was an im- 
becile ; when a cook wants fish, he ought to know 
how to make one." Most persons who are in the 
habit of frequenting Parisian restaurants will at 
once admit the truth of this last remark from their 
own experience, but it may be doubted if they are 
always satisfied with the form in which it is offered 
them. If Vatel ever hears of it, he will probably 
think of the words of the lion grown old, but wliich 
Baron Brisse seems to have forgotten. When the 
monarch of the forest was aged and helpless, the 
other beasts came up, one after another, to give him 
a blow. He said nothing till the approach of the 
animal who once had donned his hide and betrayed 
himself, when he found it too much to endure, and 
addressed him with, — 

Ah ! c'est trop; je voulais bien mourir, 
Mais c'est mourir deux fois que soufFrir tes atteintes." 

One more extract will suffice. It is advice to 
diners-out as well as to those who give dinners. 
It seemed to me very interesting, and the more so 
that it is doubtless laro;elv drawn fi'om the writer's 
own experience. " Les diners du Baron Brisse " are 
well known here in Paris, and I give the results of 
his tribulations in this matter for the benefit of those 
of my readers who shine as hosts or guests of the 
first water : " Mental qualities are not less necessary 
to an amphitryon, than all those we have just enum- 
erated. How can one expect to gather agreeable 
companions at his table, and arrange them properly, 



TEE LITERARY AMPHITRYON. 387 

if lie has not a wise tact, a great knowledge of men, 
and that acquaintance with the world which cannot 
be found in books, but which is, nevertheless, so 
necessary to him who would keep a good house and 
prides himself on the success of his table. One 
cannot eat five hours without stopping, however 
excellent may be the dinner. Man, weak and im- 
potent creature that he is, soon finds, alas ! that 
there are limits to his appetite. The most intrepid 
eater is sated when he has made the tour of the 
first two courses, and then one perceives the neces- 
sity of having an agreeable neighbor and being able 
to chat with him, for in the large number of guests 
it is impossible to carry on a general conversation. 
But often these are not well informed in regard to 
each other, and if the host, who should know them 
all, has not taken pains to seat them properly, they 
will be mutually paralyzed. 

" Having thus rapidly mentioned the qualities 
most needed in order to become a good amphitryon, 
let me be permitted to speak of the ingratitude with 
which at the present day people generally repay 
those who do their best to fulfill all their duties." — 
Alas, poor Baron ! — " The guests often make fun 
of the embarrassments of him who receives them ; 
they take pleasure in turning him into ridicule ; 
they set themselves up as censors and judges, as if 
it were a right they had purchased at their en- 
trance ; and soon they will hiss the master of the 
house. I cannot too strongly protest against a for- 



388 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

getfulness so revolting. A good dinner being one 
of the greatest enjoyments of human hfe, ought one 
not to show some thankfuhiess to him who procures 
it for him, and takes so much trouble to enable us to 
eat his substance ? Instead of trifling with and in- 
sulting him, let us rather encourage him by praises 
discreetly bestowed upon the meats that he pro- 
vides ; let us pay our reckoning in joyous hon mots, 
in agreeable sallies of wit, in spirituel couplets, 
neat repartees, and in little stories short and amus- 
ing ; and let us reflect that, far fi'om trying to dis- 
courage those who take pride in feeding us well, 
we should stimulate them by eulogies." 

What a celestial banquet this would be, if one 
could only manage it ! Doubtless, to use the lan- 
guage of Grimod de la Regniere, ^''Cette douce hi" 
laritS produira d'aimahle ejjanohements.^^ But un 
fortunately, as the Baron says, man is " a weak 
and impotent creature," and few hosts are able to 
collect together those choice wits whose " spirituel 
couplets and neat repartees " are to season the en- 
tertainment into a nox coenaque deuyn. The writ- 
er's remarks are, however, for the most part very 
true, and he might well have finished them with 
the mournful words of ^neas, " magna pars fui.'" 
The giver of dinner-parties in Paris generally finds 
it a profitless oflice, and is rewarded only by sneers 
and jokes from his unscrupulous guests, which, be- 
ing perpetrated after the feast, do not add greatly 
to its life at the time. The heau monde of Paris are 



THE LITERARY AMPHITRYON. 389 

terribly sarcastic, and, if a telling thing can be said, 
are never restrained by any sense of gratitude or 
decency. When Figaro, with lively insouciance^ 
relates his past adventures to Count Almaviva, the 
latter says, " Who gave thee a philosophy so gay ! " 
" LliaUtude du malhem\'' is the reply, and in these 
words is to be found the incentive of the Baron's 
remarks. I fear he has forgotten that Figaro, as 
well as himself, took refuge from misery in the pub- 
lication of a paper, — " Journal inutile^' he styles it, 
— which came to grief after the first few numbers. 
May the gods avert the omen. 

It is only in Paris that the cuisine has been ideal- 
ized into forms of assthetic beauty, and the crea- 
tions of the saucepan become the offspring of fancy. 
Wordsworth could extract the poetical sentiment 
from the woes of a patient donkey, — " Patiens 
dominabitur astris^^^ — and found in the meanest 
vegetable " thoughts that do often lie too deep for 
tears ; " but it remained for the French to discover 
the airy conceits that lurk around a fried potato, or 
haunt the recesses of a saddle of mutton. These 
inspirations find no home in the Anglo-Saxon mind, 
and if one ever rarely manifests itself it meets with 
a chilling reception. I have heard bread termed 
" the staff of life," to be sure, but never knew of 
any one calling for it under that name at a restau- 
rant ; and even that somewhat labored and heavy 
conception is far more appropriate here than at 
home; here, where the loaves are six feet long, 



390 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

and stand on an end in a corner of the room like 
huge walking-sticks. But when one sees asparagus 
dispensed under the term " rays of the full moon," 
and whipped syllabub etherealized into '' the birth- 
place of Venus," he begins to appreciate the delicate 
imaginings of the cooks that here abound. I look 
in the carte of my restaurant, and am no longer 
shocked to see "roast chickens" in all the naked 
grossness of the term, but poulets en ivoire. This 
at once suggests a masterpiece by Phidias, or an 
artistic carving by Benvenuto Cellini, and I am 
reminded that T am about to enjoy the inestimable 
blessings of a cuisine classique^ and dine in the only 
way that the highest order of animals should. To 
the coarse nature of a peasant an egg is an egg, or 
a turnip a turnip, and before I came to Paris I ig- 
norantly supposed that a sweet-bread was a — that 
is to say — was a-a-a — in short — shall I with 
shame confess it ? — I thought it was a sweet-bread; 
but now that I hear it called by its real name, — ris- 
de-veau amour eux — the amorous smiles of a calf, — 
I despise my former ignorance, and bow down in 
silent admiration before a fancy so exhaustless. A 
turkey here is no longer " a tame yillatic fowl," 
swelling and strutting like the Lord Mayor of Lon- 
don in his scarlet robes, crass, fat, puffy creature, 
with his feathers standing out all over him, like 
quills upon the fretful editor's desk, but a " dindon^'' 
a '' bird of Lid," of Paradise, perchance, his veins 
filled with otto of roses ; a spirit of the air, rather, 



THE LITERARY AMPHITRYON. 391 

wont to revel in the voluptuous pile of a rosy-tinted 
cloud, and whose plumes remind one of the trem- 
bling foliage of the sensitive plant ; a winged Anac- 
reon, quick to soar, and ready to sing, did he not 
fear to disconcert the tranquil flow of the nectar 
that w^ells throuo;h his veins. I tremble to think 
of my past ignorance. Holy George Herbert 
termed his earthly acquirements " a nothing be- 
tween two dishes," and Newton compared himself 
to a child playing on the shore of the ocean, and 
picking up a few shells here and there, — so little did 
these great men think of their worldly progress ; 
but what are these to one who, like myself, was 
more than twenty years of age before he knew 
what manner o' thing was your turkey ? 

It is both an amiable and a pardonable weakness 
of our poor humanity, this longing after dinner, 
this straining one's vision, like an Arab in the des- 
ert, for our daily oasis, the be all and the end all of 
the twenty-four hours. It is the kernel of the 
twenty-four hours, which with patient toil we ex- 
tract from the rough and bitter rind that surrounds 
it ; an island of the blest, upon which we land for 
a short space, to wander in the dreamy joys of un- 
tainted ease ; a secluded valley, in which for one 
transient hour we pasture, while the cares that en- 
velop us like rugged and lofty peaks, for the mo- 
ment fade away into the blue ether. I never read 
of any one, except Sir Isaac Newton, w^hose palate 
was so impregnable, so heavily iron-plated, as it 



892 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

were, that he would say grace and benediction at 
the same moment over a dish of chicken bones, and 
then send them away under the delusion that he 
had satisfied every stomachic need till the morrow. 
He would have been a hard subject for Baron 
Brisse. But most of our great men have had the 
same craving as ourselves in this respect. Says 
Pope, " The devil is in you if you cannot dine." 
Who can forget the melancholy pathos of Dr. John- 
son's signature, Impransus ? Macaulay, narrating 
the woes of the toil - worn secretaries of Freder- 
ick the Great, caps the climax of their misery by 
saying, " They knew not what it was to dine." 
DTsraeli observes that an eminent artist and wit, 
looking on Chantrey's immortal bust of the illustri- 
ous Tomkins, declared that " this man had died for 
want of a dinner." This is the key-stone of their 
daily arch to the majority of our species, and till it 
be placed in position and the whole finished, teres 
atque rotundus^ there is a sense of imperfection, as 
if the edifice had not been crowned, and might at 
any moment, like Bacon's mansion, tumble on their 
heads. But afterwards, when the whole is complete, 
and the divine afflatus comes with the dessert, and 
like " the Derby dilly carrying six inside," we bowl 
along with a happy sense of peaceful security and 
freedom from care, then we feel that we have 
topped perfection, and explore in vain our mental 
dictionary for the word excelsior. We no longer 
see a radiant youth half-way up a mountain ten 



THE LITERARY AMPHITRYON. 393 

times as high as Mont Blanc, waving a flag, and a 
falhno; star comino; out of his mouth. But he is on 
the top, and is n't a youth hut an angel, and his flag 
has become wings, and he looks like ourselves, and 
cries, " Here we are ! " Then the yeast of com- 
placency expands our cold obstruction into every 
form of benevolence. Then we spread out our 
hands and bless all humanity, and love our neigh- 
bor as ourselves, even old next door, who keeps 

that howling dog ; and Miss on the other side , 

who, having no other male attendant, maintains a 
rooster with a chronic nightmare ; and even that 

rascal , who bought up our note on the street 

this very day for I won't say what, and flaunted it 
in our face as we passed him on the w^ay home. 
Bless you all, my friends ; bless you ! And then 
just as we begin to think how much better we are 
than other men, and how faithfully we have kept 
every commandment in the decalogue, drowsy 
vapors steal over us, our legs slide under the pol- 
ished mahogany, and we subside into the land of 
dreams and vacuity. 

In Paris dining has become a great and elaborate 
science. It is taught by a multitude of professors 
more or less learned, and I will give my readers, in 
closing this paragraph, the last instructions of a mas- 
ter therein. May they all benefit by them : " There 
are two sorts of nourishment : the prosaic, which has 
no other object than to fill the stomach, produce 
chyle, and invigorate the blood ; and the poetic, 



394 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

parfumee., which stimulates the mind, while nour- 
ishing the body, which delights while it strength- 
ens, which transports us into that exhilarating 
atmosphere of human life, that species of Moham- 
medan Paradise which all intelligent diners know 
and appreciate." I commend this latter sort to my 
readers. May they long live to enjoy, in the me- 
lodious language of M. Berchoux, that 

" Doux plaisir, qu'un besoin sans cesse renaissant 
Rend toujours plus aimable et toujours plus piquant." 



I 



CHAPTER XXVII. 

SUB-PARISIAN PARIS. 

Among the numerous attractions of Paris during 
tlie present year, are many which are not generally 
exposed to public view, at least not with the pro- 
fuse liberality ^and freedom that the government are 
now displaying. All the palaces and museums, the 
churches and monuments have been shown with not 
the least restriction, and that without the require- 
ment of the slightest fee. It seems to have been 
the design of the Emperor, that every edifice and 
institution of France in the least degree of public 
interest, should be perfectly accessible. The Cata- 
combs have been closed to all visitors for a long 
period, but this summer they have been opened to 
every ])erson who cared to ask for a ticket, and one 
day in each week they have been lighted up through- 
out their whole extent ; while guides, who are not 
allowed to receive any pay, give descriptions of their 
most interesting features, and provide for the safety 
of every one. The Sewers have also been exhib- 
ited once a week, and have proved a most interest- 
ing attraction. At first thoughts they would hardly 
suggest anything to the mind of any one, but '' a 



396 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

foul and pestilent congregation " of muddy impurity, 
vile smells, and the rottenness and garbage of a 
great city ; but upon those who have seen them, the 
impressions left are quite different from this. The 
whole system of Parisian drainage is on so grand 
and elaborate a scale, so perfect in its working, and 
so admirable a specimen of engineering, that one 
passes at once from incipient disgust to the height 
of admiration. It forms another excellent illustra- 
tion of the w^onderfid changes that have been going 
on in this capital of late years, and which have been 
quite as important below ground, where they are 
unseen, as above, where they strike the eye at every 
turn. Not merely has the government devoted its 
attention to the erection of great and beautiful 
buildings and monuments, — •' common pleasures 
to walk abroad and recreate yourselves," — but its 
policy has been to make Paris the cleanest and 
the most salubrious of all modern cities. For this 
reason the greatest attention has been paid to the 
sewerage, and at this time so thoroughly have the 
original plans been carried out, that in no other 
town in the world can anything be found to equal 
them. Baron Haussmann's efforts to widen the 
streets, to open new and handsome boulevards lined 
with trees, and aflPord the people more breathing- 
spaces in the shape of parks and squares, have 
always been accompanied by an equal development 
below ground. Beneath the pavement of each of 
these new avenues, runs a sewer, which is not only 



SUB-PARISIAN PARIS. 397 

sufficient to cany off all refuse, but so large and 
airy that no miasma can lurk there, and thus pre- 
serve and ripen the germs of cholera or other pes- 
tilential diseases. The result of all these improve- 
ments will probably be to make the French metrop- 
olis the healthiest in the world. 

I have not sufficient space to give a full descrip- 
tion of this vast and admirable system of " canali- 
zation.^^ It is all due to the able administrative tal- 
ent of Baron Haussmann. Suffice it to say that 
Paris is now drained by over 490,000 metres — 
each metre being equal to 39.370 inches — of sew- 
ers, most of which have either been newly built, 
and all greatly improved, since 1855. In these fig- 
ures are not comprised those leading from private 
houses to the main branches. In the documents 
emanating from his department, the Prefect shows 
most disthictly that wonderful clearness of head and 
far-sighted management which have ever character- 
ized his measures in connection with the sanitary 
regulation of this immense centre. As he well 
says, " The subterranean galleries, organs of the 
city, should operate like those of the human body 
without being exposed to view. Pure and fresh 
water, light, and heat, should there circulate like 
the various fluids Avhose movement and maintenance 
support life. The secretions should be mysteri- 
ously disposed of, and thus insure the public health, 
without disturbing the good order of the metropolis, 
or detracting from its external beauty." This plan 



'398 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

has been thoroughly carried, out, and now gives a 
wonderful proof of its advantages in the excellent 
workino; of all its details. Of the minute and com- 
prehensive oversight of these by Baron Haussmann, 
a neat little anecdote offers a good illustration. 
During the late visit of the sovereigns to Paris, 
Prince Oscar, of Sweden, requested the Prefect 
of the Seine to accompany him m a tour which he 
proposed to make through this enormous net-work 
of sewerage. During the excursion his host showed 
the most accurate acquaintance with every detail of 
the system, and there was no portion of the works, 
however remote or insignificant, with which he did 
not display the most intimate familiarity. He fairly 
overflowed with figures and information of every 
sort. Prince Oscar was astounded with all he Avit- 
nessed, and expressed his surprise in no measured 
terms. " I never saw anything like it," said he. 

" Nor did I," replied the Prefect, " for it is the 
first time I ever visited this department of my 
realm." 

" Do you mean that you were never in one of 
the sewers before to-day ? " 

" Never," w^as the answer. 

" Mon Dieu I " exclaimed the Prince, " how then 
have you learnt all its details so completely ? " 

" Oh, I have my plans at the Hotel de Ville,^^ 
returned the Prefect. 

Prince Oscar is not by any means the first illus- 
trious personage who has visited the sewers of Paris. 



SUB-PARIS J AN PARIS. 399 

In the reign of the first Napoleon it had an ener- 
getic fedile in the shaj^e of M. Dubois. He was 
the founder of that magnificent egout which passes 
under the Porte St. Denis., and was designed in imi- 
tation of 'the Cloaca Maxima of Tarquinius Priscus, 
whose remains still exist to testify to our age of the 
massive grandeur of Roman masonry. The great 
Emperor, feeling a deep interest in the progress of 
this work, from time to time went to examine it 
with that officer. It was not without enthusiasm, 
mingled with alarm, that one morning the people 
in the Place du Chatelet saw the hero of Marengo 
abruptly emerge from the bowels of the earth, and 
appear in the midst of them. Quickly recovering 
their self-possession, they redoubled their clapping 
and loud vivats., while Napoleon, who since five in 
the morning had been buried in those subterranean 
constructions, remained for a moment overcome by 
the sudden light and confusion. Then expanding 
his lips with one of those fascinating smiles, of 
which he was never lavish, that he might use them 
the more seductively when occasion required, he 
mounted his horse, waved the crowd a gesture of 
adieu, and disappeared. 

The width of the streets, and the peculiar manner 
in which they are graded, renders a liberal arrange- 
ment of the sewers quite necessary, apart fi'om 
other considerations. Many of these are covered 
with macadam, and the widest always are, though 
along each side of most runs a broad band of pave- 



400 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

ment in small oblong blocks. After every rain the 
surface is at once swept with brooms and machines. 
This process, though it quickly makes the ways neat 
and comfortable for pedestrians, of course causes 
the accumulation of a vast deal of mud and debris, 
which can be disposed of only through the drains. 
If these were not of great size, they would soon 
be clogged up, and become perfectly useless ; but as 
it is, they are so vast and accessible that they can 
at once be cleaned out. The quantity, however, is 
not so great or so rapid in its collection, as it would 
otherwise be, from two causes. In the first place, 
the copious showers that often fall in the great basin 
in which Paris lies, send immense torrents through 
the various outlets, and at times the quantity of 
water is so great as to nearly fill even the largest of 
them ; and as the city is not by any means level, but, 
on the contrary, nearly as irregular in its general 
surface as Boston, the force of these currents is very 
great, and drives a vast amount of refuse into the 
Seine. It will easily be seen to how severe a test 
these conduits are always exposed. Then again for 
three hours every day the hydrants are opened, and 
a plentiful supply of water from hundreds of pipes 
pours into every drain. Thus the accumulation 
of dirt is kept down as long as possible, and wdien 
it becomes too great, in spite of the rushing water, 
it is removed by men with shovels and brooms, who 
gather it up in cars running on rails along the sew- 
ers. These men, to the number of several hundred, 



SUB-PARISIAN PARIS. 401 

live in these subterranean tunnels, and in their high 
jack-boots and dirty garments are hardly the most 
refined and intellectual specimens of our race to 
be found in Paris ; and yet they are superior to the 
mudlarks of the Thames, and the rest of that foul 
fraternity of mongrels whom Dickens so graphically 
portrays hi " Our Mutual Friend." Notwithstand- 
ing their obscure, dingy, underground existence, I 
learned, on inquiry, that they enjoy quite as good 
health as others more agreeably situated who labor 
for an honest living. They told me they had as 
much sunlight as they needed or cared for, and 
when they desired more could go en haut. I pre- 
sume they have become used to the deprivation, like 
miners and other men of similar pursuits, who never 
miss the sun, because they have never been in the 
habit of living in his society. Apart from the dark- 
ness, however, which w^ould certainly be objection- 
able to most people, the sewers can hardly be called 
unwholesome, for they are very neat, and excel- 
lently ventilated, and the air is not in the least 
tainted. They are, certainly, much better adapted 
for a healthy residence than those lodgings of the 
poorer classes in London and Liverpool which I 
have visited. These are really, from garret to cel- 
lar, mere ao;o;re2:ations of human filth and wretch- 
edness, want and disease, where death lurks in 
every corner, and only delays to strike till he can 
prostrate his victims by scores and hundreds at 
once. Here crime, woe, and ignorance crouch in 

26 



402 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

rags and penury, and squalid forms, in festering 
heaps, seem the sewerage of humanity drained into 
one loathsome mass. 

..The chief danger to life in the egoids^ arises from 
those sudden and violent storms which at times 
burst over Paris, and speedily inundate it with 
oceans of water. The sewers, of course, are filled 
almost immediately, and those at work therein are 
obliged to run for their lives. As these frequently 
labor in lonely and inaccessible spots, their condition 
is all the more perilous. Ordinarily one of their 
number remains in the street at the " regard en 
fonte^^ or draught - hole, nearest their location. 
Soon as the first drops of the impending rain are 
perceived, he gives the signal for retreat by striking 
loudly with his heavy iron pincers upon the metallic 
plate that covers this entrance. The blows rever- 
berate through the galleries, and the ouvriers flee 
as fast as possible. 

This means of safety has, however, of late years 
become somewhat uncertain by reason of the in- 
creased extent of the passages. The percussion is 
heard without difficulty in those which are made in 
solid masonry, but not in the smaller ones, wdiich 
are often constructed of heton^ or concrete. As I 
was in the Hue du Fauhourg-Poissonniere last sum- 
mer, I was present at a thrilling accident arising 
partly from this cause. A fearful tempest had ab- 
ruptly darkened the sky and already begun to rage 
with impetuous tumult. And I may say in passing 



SUB-PARISIAN PARIS. 403 

that only those who have witnessed one of these 
summer uproars of Nature in Paris can appreci- 
ate the wild and thunderous madness of faUing wa- 
ter. In the midst of the deluge several workmen 
emerged from the regard en fonte. Though in the 
greatest peril from the roaring torrent below them, 
that rushed with irresistible power through its con- 
fined channel, all escaped in safety except one. He 
was the last of the eager and frightened fugitives 
to mount the ladder, and his head had barely ap- 
peared above the level of the pavement, when his 
uncertain footing was broken by the sudden strain 
and weight of so many at once, and with a loud and 
thrilling cry he sank into the abyss, and was whirled 
away to a quick and dreadful death. It was " a sight 
to dream of, not to see." 

One of the great sewers of Paris runs the whole 
length of the new and magnificent Boulevard do 
Sehastopol^ and from that in a further direct line to 
the station of the Strasbourg railway. A branch of 
this magnificent and chief artery of the city life, 
nearly as vast in its dimensions, extends along the 
centre of the Rue de Rivoli. Both of these termi- 
nate at the Seine, near the Place du Chatelet. At 
this point visitors are generally admitted, and de- 
scend by a spiral stairway of iron to a level slightly 
above that of the river. Here we found ourselves 
in a lofty and spacious gallery about fifteen feet 
high, into which several main lines debouched. The 
shape of all the sewers is a symmetrical oval. They 



404 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

are mostly made of the sandstone so commonly- 
used in Paris for building purposes, and the axis of 
the largest of them, by which, of course, I mean the 
longest diameter, is that which I have just given as 
the height of the gallery. From a line about one 
third of the way from the bottom projects on either 
side a stone walk two feet in width, which is ordi- 
narily several inches higher than the surface of the 
sewerage. The walls and railings are nicely white- 
washed, and at intervals are inserted white porcelain 
plates bearing in gilt letters the names of the streets 
under which the diverging conduits run. The map 
of the underground city, it will thus appear, corre- 
sponds exactly with that of the more brilliant Paris 
above, and it is quite as easy, with the aid of a lan- 
tern, to find one's way through it. Directly under 
the arch of this vault run the water-pipes, painted a 
clear black, and of enormous size, as might be im- 
agined from the huge supplies needed for the foun- 
tains and other uses of the city. Opposite them are 
long and slender tubes of lead, side by side in a 
single cluster, each of which contains a telegraph 
wire. These are thus isolated from every weaken- 
ing attraction, and concealed from any other injury. 
The city itself is also thus preserved from the dis- 
figurement of unsightly poles and loose iron twine 
dangling from chimney to chimney. At long in- 
tervals are large reservoirs, into which the turbid 
contents can be drawn off at once, and emptied 
in case of necessity. These are partly for possible 



SUB-PARISIAN PARIS. 405 

military needs, as in some events it might be desir- 
able to send troops undergromid, in order to make 
a sudden and unforeseen attack upon a mob in in- 
surrection. This would, certainly, be a somewhat 
novel piece of strategy, even in the present com- 
plicated manoeuvres of modern warfare. It might, 
however, very probably, have saved Charles X., or 
Louis Philippe, if either of these royal birds, when 
entangled in the meshes of their own nets, had pos- 
sessed such a method of communicating with their 
distant troops, or despatching them to points of im- 
portance. As it was, when ordered out from the 
Tuileries, the soldiery had no means either of find- 
ing their way back, or of forwarding information of 
their peril to head-quarters. 

In each of the sidewalks that line the larger 
sewers, is inserted an iron rail. Upon these, cars 
are run for various purposes. Sometimes to convey 
away the more solid part of the city garbage, some- 
times to carry vegetables and the carcasses of cattle 
and sheep to the markets, and again they are em- 
ployed in clearing out the drains. On this occasion, 
they served a more obviously useful and agreeable 
end, in forming the track for a line of six neat little 
carriages that bore the invited 2;uests on their tour 
of inspection. Each of these was fitted for the ac- 
commodation of fourteen persons. Three faced the 
engine, — if that term may be properly applied to 
the biped power that drew us ; three rode with 
their faces to the less attractive point of view ; while 



406 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

between these extended two benches with the same 
back on a Une with the rails, on which sat eight 
persons, four fronting one wall and four the other. 
It was altogether a natty, economical, and comfort- 
able arrangement. The cars were handsomely 
painted and tastefully fitted up, and bore at each 
corner an elegant brass lamp with a large glass 
globe. These were filled with kerosene, and shone 
as brightly as the full moon. They looked much 
more stylish on their pedestals than those which 
many families are wont to read by in America. 
One after another, each of the little wagons for 
which we were waiting was drawn forward like a 
perambulating firework — a feu de joie — from the 
long cavern in which it was hidden, and the pas- 
sengers rapidly seated themselves. It was then 
drawn forward to join those that awaited it to com- 
plete the train. Each was pulled by two men, 
attached to ropes, while the same number propelled 
it from behind. A conductor in official badge went 
before, and off" we started. The track was rather 
rusty, and the men perspired profusely with their 
labors, though perhaps the hope of backsheesh opened 
the pores somewhat more easily than usual. At first 
our progress was slow, but soon a little impetus was 
gained, and on we went, stemming the tainted and 
sluggish current, thicker and more impure than that 
of the Ganges, which flowed beneath us, — the 
Lethe of a great city bearing slowly to the sea the 
cast off" sloucrh of its daily renewed life. For a 



SUB-PARISIAN PARIS. 407 

short distance we followed the main line leading 
■under the Boulevard de Sehastopol. From the 
point of juncture with the Rue de MivoU, its vast 
tunnel gradually faded away into the heaviness of 
thick darkness. At our right disappeared one arm 
of the latter, and no eye could penetrate its dense 
gloom. Only here and there was heard the faint 
splash of water, distantly falling, — but one voice 
of Nature in the silence around us, — while over- 
head the unceasing tide of travel poured full and 
free, like the deep bass of a mighty and unseen 
organ. Here w^e halted for a minute, while car 
after car slowly turned the corner and proceeded 
up the Rue de Rivoli, w hen a new feature lit up 
the scene. The whole two miles and more of this 
stately avenue was illuminated at intervals some- 
what great, by lamps like those borne by our car- 
riages. The eye could follow them, till they 
became mere sparks from the anvil in the far per- 
spective, and at length dwindled to an endless 
ray of glittering light. Their effect was increased 
by the fact that they were not sufficiently numerous 
to dispel the darkness, but served only, as it were, 
to make it visible and abundantly evident to the 
senses. 

Slowly we passed on and on, wdiile the loud rum- 
ble of busy traffic overhead became deeper and 
deeper. Our shining cars pierced the obscurity 
like great squares of light ; lit up the mass of stones 
for a moment with an unwonted glow ; -and then 



408 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

glided forward, casting behind them phantoms grim 
and tall that danced a transient and fantastic reel 
upon the walls and ceiling, until gradually they 
mingled with the gloom of which they seemed the 
fitting offspring. At times we came suddenly upon 
a briUiant reflector that sent a broad and luminioas 
shaft athwart our path, and brought out, one after 
another, the features of all in startling contrast with 
the dimness around. We looked at each other, 
thought of Charon's boat, wondered for an instant 
whither we might be tending, and then again trav- 
ersed the gloomy night. Once in a while our lim- 
ited vision enjoyed a nearer range, and for a few 
yards we looked into the smaller tunnels, whose 
Liliputian dimensions were swallowed up in the 
great Brobdingnag through which we were gliding ; 
or a gleam of purest daylight permeated a distant 
grating, and we were enlivened for a moment by 
the cheerful chatter of human voices. Now and 
then water, with ceaseless ooze, dripped down nar- 
row stairways, which gave access to the sewer, and 
cold, sticky, and clammy, seemed the blood of death, 
and clung to the stones, as if loth to part : leav- 
ing a viscous and snail-like trail on everything it 
touched, and casting a dank vapor like a shroud 
around it, it crept towards its grave. And still on 
we mounted towards the source of the muddy tor- 
rent, and silent clove the silence. Only once, when 
the water bed mounted higher than the walks on 
either hand, the heavy tramp of human footsteps 



SUB-PARISIAN PARIS. 409 

was added to the scene, and feet which had de- 
scended noiselessly before, dashed heavily the water 
on either hand with a monotonous regularity, that 
at length appeared to make the silence only more in- 
tense. In abodes such as this felony has not unfre- 
quently found a refuge, and red-handed outcasts, 
driven from society and hunted by outraged justice, 
have lived a life of gloom, like that of their own 
souls. Here they have fought, here they have died, 
and their blood, accursed of all, has vitiated even 
the cold putrescence into which it fell. But now 
these Ishmaelites of the sewers have disappeared 
before the onward march of humanity, and Paris 
and London, in providing for the health and thrift 
of their citizens, have deprived crime of yet another 
wonted resort. 

At the corner of the Hue Roy ale the railway came 
to an end, and we forthwith abandoned our wagons. 
The gentlemen pursued their way on foot, along 
the walk at the right of the tunnel, like wandering 
souls on the dreary banks of the Styx. For the 
ladies, boats, resembling the cars in shape and ap- 
pointments, had been provided, and they quietly 
stowed themselves away. The boatmen rowed off 
one after another as fast as they received their 
freight. The rest of the trip was but short, and 
ere long we came to an iron stairway, similar to 
that at the entrance of the sewer. Up this we 
mounted, and before us stood the majestic and clas- 
sic church, or rather temple, of the Madeleine, 



410 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

bosomed high m tufted sycamores, and glorious in 
the evening sun. We had begun our descent in 
the grove that surrounds the fountain in the Place 
du Chatelet. Between these two oases, which stand 
amid the deserts of a vast city, and cheer even its 
arid heartlessness and often unavaihng struggles for 
a barren life, our caravan had calmly glided along 
in the darkness. Entering at the door of a theatre, 
we had come out at that of a church. It was no 
unfit illustration of many and many an existence 
in this focus of pleasure, which, lavishing its early 
years and the vigorous and abundant blood of 
youth on worldly and sensuous delights, brings its 
exhausted age to the threshold of the Almighty, 
and thus seeks to secure a salvation richly forfeited 
to justice, and invigorate the dregs of a misspent 
life, by offering it at the shrine of religion. 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE IMPERIAL LIBRARY. 

The sreat charm of Paris is that it offers to 
every one that varied round of enjoyments, that 
tasteful and dehcate blending of all beauties, that 
ingenious minglino; of the fascinations of Art with 
the excellences of Nature, which every one can ap- 
preciate and none can resist. Here every mood of 
mind, '' or gay, or grave, or sweet, or stern," can 
find the pastime that befits it most. And all is so 
arrancred that no one's relaxation is allowed to ob- 
trude itself upon that of another. The devotees 
of art, of science, of literature, of war, no less 
than those of pleasure, can here gratify their ruling 
passions with the use of such facilities as can never 
be found elsewhere. Within her walls education 
and the useful arts march hand in hand with relig- 
ion, or at least with what the nation call religion, 
and is their established form of worship. I know 
that this is not the general opinion. I am con- 
scious that Paris is generally regarded as the resort 
of the votaries of sensual delight, and under no 
other aspect. But this is because those who come 
here willfully throw away the opportunities so lib- 



412 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

erally, jes, profusely held out to them. Compara- 
tively few look upon this city as the intellectual 
metropolis of a great and mighty nation, a nation 
which, whatever may have been its deficiencies 
hitherto, is daily increasing in wealth and splendor, 
and continually adding to the reputation which its 
great men have obtained for it in the past and are 
dail}' augmenting. To-day its influence in Europe 
is more widely extended than that of any other 
people, and is more beneficial to the real elevation 
of our race. In every respect it is in the van, and 
in Paris, more than anywhere else, one sees on 
every side the evidences thereof. 

Dr. Veron, in his Memoires cCun Bourgeois de 
Paris^ remarks with truth, " En clier chant bien, on 
trouve tout a Paris., meme la solitude et VomhreJ''' 
Conspicuous among those places where this " soli- 
tude and shade " are to be found is that noble and 
useful institution, the Imperial Library. This has 
always been dear to the country and an object of na- 
tional pride. The government ^?r(9 tern.., whatever its 
form, — royal, republican, or imperial, — has ever 
had its interests at heart, and done the best in its 
power for their advancement. The collection now 
numbers over two milhons of volumes, to say noth- 
ing of a vast store of manuscripts, engravings, coins, 
maps, and other objects of literary interest. Equal 
attention is bestowed upon every branch, and all 
works of importance are added as soon as published. 
Hence one finds on its shelves not only ancient 



THE IMPERIAL LIBRARY. 413 

parchments of great value, and missals delicately 
illuminated, over which cloistered monks in ages 
past poured forth the simple faith that was in them 
through quaint imageiy and fantastic colors, but the 
last editions of modern luxury, adorned by the pen- 
cil of Dor^, or solar records of the best photo- 
graphic artists. Of course, the daily increase is 
great, and that of a year enormous. The funds for 
the annual supply are almost unlimited, and being 
granted entirely from the public treasury, are really 
contributed by the whole people. The result is 
worthy of France and the efforts that have been 
made during so many generations. Nowhere else 
can be found a library so perfect in its plan, so 
complete in its details, or so liberally managed ; for 
the most perfect liberty in its use that is compatible 
with its preservation, is granted to all, and any per- 
son who conducts himself properly is allowed to 
avail himself of its treasures with hardly a check. 
The Imperial government has for several years past 
been doing much for the improvement of this in- 
stitution, and in this respect has far surpassed its 
predecessors. It has been gradually rebuilding the 
whole of the vast precincts in the Rue Richelieu^ 
and already a large portion thereof has been fin- 
ished. As might be supposed, the arrangements 
are admirable, and nothing has been omitted that 
skill in architecture could suggest, either in econ- 
omy and convenience in the location of the books, 
or provisions for the comfort of those who resort to 



414 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

read them. A great degree of talent, and that of 
a pecuhar khid, has been needed in disposing of so 
vast a number of tomes in such a way that they 
shall be easily accessible, well lighted, and quick to 
find. In the old structure so long were some of 
the galleries, and so inconvenient the distribution 
of the books, that the assistants often were obliged 
to walk an eighth of a mile in order to find a single 
volume. A few days ago I went over the new ad- 
ditions, and was extremely interested to notice the 
way in which the shelves have been planned, and 
the wonderful compression of their contents. 

One of the great attractions of the late erection 
is the readino;-hall. This is devised with extraor- 
dinary cleverness and adaptation to its object. It 
is light, airy, and extremely well ventilated. The 
desks number two hundred and fifty, and one is al- 
lowed to each reader. At its head are the stands 
and tables for the officers of the library and those 
who communicate the works that are called for. 
Behind these are sliding boxes passing to every 
floor, and a system of bells and tubes through which 
any assistant can be summoned from any part of 
the edifice. The upper part is entirely novel in 
its plan, and unique in the material of which it is 
made. It is composed of nine large domes, each 
being formed of several hundred pieces of porcelain, 
all curved and so skillfrilly joined that the line of 
contact is scarcely perceptible. These were done, 
somewhat oddly, when one reflects that the govern- 



THE IMPERIAL LIBRARY. 415 

ment had at its disposal all the resources of the es- 
tablishment at Sevres, by the eminent English man- 
ufacturer, Copeland. They are preeminently well 
made, and the effect is tasteful and impressive, as 
well as appropriate. The ground of the slabs is 
white, and they are elegantly decorated with grace- 
ful flowers and fruit. These cupolas rest upon light 
and slender pillars of cast iron, which rise from 
pedestals somewhat tall and more substantial, that 
bear some resemblance to those beautiful sockets 
by Alessandro Leopardi, which sustain the gon- 
falons of Venice in the Piazza of St. Mark. The 
columns are too slight to interrupt the view in any 
direction, while they add greatly to the lightness of 
the domes and the cheerful effect of the other ap- 
pointments of the hall. There is one disagreeable 
result, however, that follows from this peculiar ceil- 
ing, in the shape of a quite distinct echo. This, 
however, is not a great disadvantage under the cir- 
cumstances, for the rule is strictly enforced that the 
reading-room shall be used only for its intended 
purposes, and no conversation is allowed. It is a 
great pity that a similar regulation cannot be inex- 
orably carried out in some of our institutions at 
home, for the repression of those who resort thither 
to gossip and whisper tacenda. I can testify from 
my own experience that this is possible, for during 
all the visits that I have made to the Imperial Li- 
brary I think I never heard fifty words spoken by 
the various readers, and this in a nation so verbose 



416 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

and vivacious by nature as the Frencli, is certainly 
very remarkable, while it does infinite credit to their 
politeness and regard for the comfort of others. Of 
course, they are to a certain extent restrained by 
the lex loci; but I am convinced that there was 
something behind this, for in presence of the strong- 
est weaknesses the law is often powerless, if there 
be no stronger motive in the background, such as 
an innate sense of duty, or delicacy of feeling. 

In speaking of the freedom of access always 
granted at this library, I did not mean entirely un- 
limited freedom. There was a day when that ex- 
isted, — by this I mean merely the privilege of 
reading the books, for none are ever allowed to be 
taken from the building under any circumstances, — 
but it was so greatly abused, that last year certain 
restrictions were necessarily imposed. However 
loth one may be to admit a fact so disreputable, it is 
nevertheless true that there are in every country 
many persons, even among those whose education 
and social position should have taught them better 
in regard to the ordinary duties of life, who have 
not only no thankfulness for benefits conferred, and 
that gratuitously, but, moreover, little regard for the 
rights of property intrusted to them, when they can 
appropriate it without danger of detection. To go 
no farther than our own country, the experience of 
most of its public libraries offers numerous illus- 
trations of this ; while the British Museum affords 
another, in the depredations that were formerly 



THE IMPERIAL LIBRARY. 417 

made upon its costly treasures. It is not many 
years since a man who had been well introduced was 
brought before one of the police magistrates of Lon- 
don, for stealincr enffravin2;s frGm the works that had 
been loaned to him from its shelves. Of these no 
less than fifty, many of them valuable, were found 
in his possession. A friend of mine informed me 
that he was once looking over the collection of a 
connoisseur of manuscripts and other literary curi- 
osities, when he came across an autograph of a 
leading Father of the Church. The name of the 
latter I forbear to give, lest the story should reach 
the ears of the party concerned, and he be led to 
think he had done something improper. Being asked 
where he got so valuable and authentic a relic, the 
virtuoso replied that ' he was examining the riches 
of a large foreign museum and *' it came off in 
his handy I can vouch for the truth of this, and I 
regret to say, of some other similar stories that have 
come to my knowledge. The Imperial Library has, 
imfortunately, not been without experiences of this 
sort, and under the former extremely liberal regime 
its losses yearly increased, until during the year 
1865 no less than five hundred and twenty-three 
books were taken from its possession and could not 
be accounted for. Those missino; for a decade 
amounted to thousands, and after the decease of a 
well-known French litterateur., no less than twenty- 
five bearing the stamp of the Bihliotheque Impe- 
riale were found in his apartments. He, as well as 
27 



418 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

many other readers, it seems, had been tempted by 
the facility with wliich pubhcations were granted 
them, and carried them away in their pockets. 
This appears the height of meanness. Milton says 
with concise and Solomonic wisdom, " Many a 
man lives a burden to the earth, but a good book is 
a precious life-blood of a master-spirit, embalmed 
and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life." 
Any insult or outrage offered to the casket contain- 
ing such a priceless jewel appears to me a sort of 
sacrilege. Miss Hawkins says, in her anecdotes of 
Goldsmith, that one day when her father was calling 
upon the latter, a standard work happened to be 
referred to in which he wished to consult a partic- 
ular passage. The book was in Goldsmith's posses- 
sion, who went to his closet and brought it forth ; 
opening it at the place required, he tore out several 
leaves and handed them to his visitor, with the re- 
mark that he might take them home and consult the 
extract at his leisure. It is many years since I saw 
this story, and it is probable that it is not quoted ex- 
actly as it.appears, but its substantial accuracy may 
be depended upon. I remember that a shudder 
went over me upon reading this, and I have always 
regarded it as an act of extreme atrocity and a fatal 
blight upon all the other characteristics of " poor 
Noll," as it is the fashion of some to style him. It 
showed to my mind an awful depravity which hun- 
dreds of virtues and mental excellences could not 
offset. I am aware that bad treatment of books was 



THE IMPERIAL LIBRARY. 419 

more common a century ago than now, when greater 
reverence is felt for both their contents and bind- 
ings than ever before, and in this respect Gold- 
smith's friend and guide, Dr. Johnson, was but little 
his superior; but even thus I should suppose the 
insulted volume would have cried out, like the 
wounded tree in the " Inferno," — 

" Why dost thou rend me ? 
Hast thou no spirit of pity whatsoever ? " 

Yet after all, this is not so nefarious as the conduct 
of one who claims to be respectable, and under that 
guise introduces himself like a wolf into the fold ; 
and who, carrying off work after work designed for 
the good of all, keeps them for his private enjoy- 
ment, or perhaps — which is still worse — merely 
for display. Goldsmith had a right, in the abstract, 
to do what he would with his own, and if his repu- 
tation and talents were not a public inheritance and 
influencing to good or bad by their example, the 
world would not have any claim to comment upon 
his deeds ; but no reprobation can be too strongly 
expressed for him who not only infringes upon the 
divine command, " Thou shalt not steal," but proves 
himself a traitor to the ordinary dictates of humanity 
and those eternal principles of justice which are 
inborn and would still prevail, were there no deca- 
logue in existence. 

The formalities at present adopted in the delivery 
of books at the Imperial Library, seem somewhat in- 
tricate to new-comers, and it is not till one has been 



420 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

accustomed to resort there, that they become easy to 
understand. I will give a list of them, that my 
readers may see the annoyances which the unscru- 
pulousness of some can cause to be imposed upon 
a multitude of others. Each person, upon his en- 
trance, finds himself in a little inclosure surrounded 
by an iron railing. Beyond this he is not allowed to 
pass, till he has taken from the hands of a janitor 
stationed there a white printed paper. The upper 
part of this contains the rules to be observed in ap- 
plying for books, the lower is ruled for the entry of 
the titles of these, and between the two the receiver 
is required to write his name and address. This he 
takes to a desk at which an officer is seated, who 
gives him a bulletin — or more than one, if he re- 
quire them — of yellow paper, on which he is to 
write again his name and address, and the work he 
desires, with the name of its author and the date of 
publication, if possible. Having done this, he re- 
turns it to the party from whom he received it. 
That official reads it, and should the volume be 
in the library, writes certain characters upon it. 
Thereupon the bearer is told to take the bulletin 
to the end of the hall, or the station in front of him, 
as the case may be, where other assistants are placed, 
whose duty is to send it within to those in imme- 
diate charge of the library. By them the tomes re- 
quired are sought out, and after an interval more or 
less short are sent down to the reading-room in one 
of the sliding boxes. From this they are taken, 



THE IMPERIAL LIBRARY. 421 

with the accompanying yellow bulletin, by one of 
the men there standing, to another desk, where it 
is left till the demandant is ready for it. With the 
white bulletin which you first received in your 
hand, you pass to this latter position and point 
out the book you sought, at the same time offering 
tlierewith your white bulletin. An elderly official 
hands both to a clerk on his left who inscribes its 
title on the former and puts the yellow bulletin at 
one side. You can then take your books and your 
white paper to a neighboring table, and use the 
former, in a proper way, as long as you please. The 
same ceremonies must be gone through with for 
every work consulted. When you leave the hall, 
you return to the desk all the works in your posses- 
sion, the word " Rendu " is stamped in red letters 
against each title on your white bulletin, and you 
then take the latter to the man at the door. He 
reads the list over carefully with the bloody let- 
ters set against each, and gracefully awards you 
permission to depart ; thereupon you stand not 
upon the order of your going but go at once, that 
is, unless you were so foolish as to take a parcel 
into the room, in which case you are obliged to re- 
turn with it to the bureau, and obtain a written per- 
mit from the officials before you can leave the room. 
On the day of my first visit I had a small bundle 
with me, but the offense was never repeated. The 
officials are very polite, but they have an innate 
suspicion by virtue of their office, and any one that 



422 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

bears a package is presumed to be guilty, till lie is 
proved to be innocent. Reflecting upon their past 
experiences, one can hardly blame them. 

These regulations, as might have been expected, 
have proved effectual in their object. They excited 
great disgust and loud outcries on the part of many 
persons when they were first adopted, but the au- 
thorities were resolute, as, indeed, how could they 
be otherwise ? They had a very obvious retort 
against those who were the most demonstrative in 
their abuse ; and when an article of considerable 

violence was published in Le Soleil by Mr. , 

a well-known writer for the Parisian papers, he was 
used up by the Director of the Library the next day, 
through a " communique " sent to that paper, in a 
manner that left him flat on his back. I never 
read a more scorching or excoriating castigation. 
It seems to have had the effect of extinguishing the 
whole controversy at once, for I have never seen a 
word on the subject in print since the day it was 
published, now more than a year ago. 

Several months ao-o, while looking over some old 
writings at this institution, I came across a manu- 
script which appeared very entertaining. As it may 
be of interest to some of my readers, it is given here, 
partly because of its originality, partly because it 
represents one of our great benefactors in a char- 
acter which may be new to some of my countrymen. 
It is undoubtedly genuine, for the handwriting does 
not admit of any skepticism as to that point. It is 



THE IMPERIAL LIBRARY. 423 

offered both in the language in which it was written 
and the Doctor's vernacular, that the two may be 
compared with facility. The copy is made with the 
utmost accuracy : — 

" M. Franklin n'oublie jamais aucune Partie ou Me. Hel- 
vetius doit etre. II croit meme que s'il etoit engage d'aller k 
Paradis ce matin, il ferai Supplication d'etre permis de rester 
sur terre jusqu' k une heure et demi pour re9evoir I'Embras- 
sade qu'elle a bienvoulu lui promettre en lui rencontrant chez 
M. Turgot." 

'' Mr. Franklin never forgets any party where 
Madame Helvetius is to be. He even believes that 
if he had engaged to go to Paradise this morning, 
he would beg to be permitted to remain on earth 
until half-past one, in order to receive the embrace 
which she has kindly promised him on meeting him 
at the house of M. Turgot." 

The original bears no date, and is addressed to 
" Monsieur VAhhe de la Roelie a AuteuiV^ The 
writing is neat, elegant, and especially distinct. It 
resembles that of Washington somewhat, and still 
more the hand of Voltaire, whom its author so 
strongly approaches in many features of his char- 
acter. 

When the above was written, I did not know 
that this little note had ever appeared in print. I 
have, however, lately seen it in the work of M. 
Edouard Laboulaye styled Correspondance de Ben- 
jamin Franklin^ and published within a year. He 
there tenders it as new and just discovered. Though 
the author vouches for the exactness of the tran- 



424 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

script, and says, '•'•je respecte V orthographie de Franh- 
lin^^'' he has made six mistakes, large and small. 

The French of Franklin's letter is not entirely 
correct, but the errors are such as might have 
arisen from momentary forgetftilness. Those who 
are acquainted with that tongue will easily detect 
them. The style is not that which a Frenchman 
would employ. It is not French French but Eng- 
hsh French, though this doubtless gave the hillet- 
doux of the genial and gallant old patriot an addi- 
tional piquancy in the eyes of its recipient and his 
lady friend. Yet its orthography is such as might 
have been expected from Franklin's pen, if we take 
into account the method by which he learnt that 
language and the difficulties that stood in his way. 
Under the circumstances, that he acquired hi his 
younger days such proficiency as he did, is greatly 
to his credit. 

As an odd example of the similarity in two re- 
spects — gallantry to ladies and the use of French 
— of two men, otherwise strongly opposed to each 
other, I insert here a letter addressed by Dr. John- 
son to " Madame la Comtesse de ," when he was 

nearly seventy years of age : — 

" Le 16 Juillet, 1775. 
" Qui, Madame, le moment est arrive, et il faut que je parle. 
Mais pourquoi faut-il partir ? Est ce que je m'ennuye ? Je 
m'ennuyerai ailleurs. Est ce que je cherche ou quelque plaisir, 
ou quelque soulagement ? Je ne cherche rien, je n'espere rien. 
Aller voir ce que j'ai vu, etre un peu rejoue, un peu degoute, 
me resouvtiiiir que la vie se passe en vain, meplaindre de moi, 



THE IMPERIAL LIBRARY. 426 

m'endurcir aux dehors ; voici le tout de ce qu'on compte 
pour les delices de I'annee. Que Dieu vous donne, Madame, 
tous les agremens de la vie, avec un esprit qui peut en jouir 
sans s'y livrer trop." 

It is a pleasing spectacle, tlie sight of these two 
venerable beaux, one of whom termed the other 
" a rebel and a rascal," forgetting for a moment the 
exasperation of political antipathy and joining in the 
universal pursuit of those prizes which the queen 
of beauty and chivalry dispenses. *' Great love,*' 
says Emerson, '' is an expounder of the reasoning 
powers," and this is doubtless true ; but the devo- 
tion of the Great Lexicographer who discovered 
the largest words in the English language, and the 
philosopher who drew the lightning from heaven, 
does not appear to have made either of them spirituel 
or fluent in a foreimi toncrue. This result would 
probably have been styled by the former '' one of 
the anfractuosities of the human intellect." His 
French was about on a par with that of his Trans- 
atlantic rival ; and it is a refreshing contrast to one 
who is familiar with Johnsonese, to turn from the 
long words and ponderous sentences of the " Ram- 
bler," where its author was at home, to his short 
words and concise expressions in a speech to which 
he was a comparative stranger. 

Notwithstanding its lack of a date, there can be 
no doubt as to the time when the former note was 
written, and as Franklin was then seventy years old, 
it proves that he was as much addicted to the fair 



426 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

sex then, as in his earher years, of which he gives 
such a naive account in his autobiography. Madame 
Helvetius and tlie Abb^ de la Roche were both old 
and dear friends of each other and warmly attached 
to our great naturalist. The former was the widow 
of the famous French liberal philosopher and skeptic 
of that name, while the latter was well known for his 
zeal in behalf of liberty, both in France and America. 
They lived at Auteuil, a little village near Paris, 
and the house of the former was the frequent rendez- 
vous of all the literary and witty society of France. 
She was a bright, intelligent, charming person, and 
a particular friend of Franklin. He is said, by the 
French writers, to have oflPered himself to her in 
marriage, though the offer was declined on the 
ground that they were already so intimate that 
nothing could make them more deeply attached to 
each other. On his return from Egypt, steeped in 
glory, Bonaparte called upon her, and found her 
living a most happy life, surrounded by cats and 
dogs, bees and birds, on her little property. To 
his congratulations on her felicity from sources ap- 
parently so slight, she made the well-known reply : 
" Ah, General ! you don't know how much enjoy- 
ment one can find on three acres of land." The 
hours which Franklin passed in her company must 
have been most delightful, and we can well imagine 
how many pangs it cost him to quit a society that had 
bound itself to him by so many liens. But when 
did his patriotic heart ever refuse the calls of his 



THE IMPERIAL LIBRARY. 427 

country or the stern claims of duty? It was not 
pleasure that led him to take a long and dreary voy- 
age across the ocean, or that induced him to pro- 
long his vexatious and aggravating residence in 
England ; and no more coald the sensuous delights 
of Paris retain him from that people to whom he 
felt his first and truest allegiance was due. Thank- 
ful for the blessings of the past, mindful of the future, 
he ever disregarded the fascinations of the moment ; 
and to his latest hours, he always saw before him 
the light whose rays were cast about him and guided 
him on. In that radiance he now reposes. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

SPARKS FROM THE KITCHEN FIRE. 

Though I am generally disposed to admit the 
truth of M. Jules Janin's maxim, '' II faut bien 
pardonner quelque chose a V enthousiasme (Vun me- 
tier ;^' which may be somewhat freely translated, 
" We must be a little tolerant of professional en- 
thusiasm ; " yet in many cases there is a necessary 
limit to this sufferance, and prudence imposes a cer- 
tain check thereupon. It oftentimes happens that 
this zeal is a little too demonstrative, and leads one 
to ask whither is it tending, and where will it stop. 
Tailors and weavers, for example, are very usefiil 
in their way, and probably will continue to be, so 
long as man is " a cloth animal." But when their 
superabundant energy leads them, and in truth 
some other people, to don the buskin, unforeseen 
results often follow. When Bottom said, " Masters, 
spread yourselves," they did so, and the upshot of 
the whole matter was, that all the performers, and 
especially their corypheus, played divers roles not laid 
down in the text. Sabbath-school teachers are very 
serviceable in their way, and so long as they con- 
fine themselv^es to doling out Biblical pap for infant 



SPARKS FROM THE KITCHEN FIRE. 429 

minds, no one can reasonably object to them. I 
have, however, seen a work by an illiterate func- 
tionary of tliis class, in which he spreads himself 
into giving a description of heaven. It is rather 
smoky, and reminds one of " the Conflict of Ages," 
or the battle of Waterloo on canvas. In it we are 
told of the trees — " graceful creatures " — that 
we shall find there, and of the advantages that 
trained swimmers will enjoy in " fording the Jor- 
dan." He should have stuck to his last. Patriot- 
ism is an excellent thing per se, but when it leads a 
dancing-master to take command of an army, he is 
likely to make general riot and confusion. When 
Goldsmith undertook to write history, and was on 
the point of describing a dire conflict between Al- 
exander the Great and Montezuma, it showed that, 
though the devotion of so able a writer to such a 
highly respectable person as the Muse presiding 
over that science was eminently creditable, his en- 
thusiasm had led him slightly beyond propriety. It 
is not every one that can pay devoirs of this sort 
with success and acceptance. Clio would rather 
queen it by herself in solitary state, than receive 
spurious incense from a counterfeit admirer. There 
is a deal of wisdom in the homely proverb, "iVii su- 
tor ultra crepidam.^^ Man is a creature of limited 
faculties at best, and however much he may desire 
to " spread himself," whether as a tailor or weaver, 
dancing-master or writer, there is often a bound 
beyond which he cannot use his powers with benefit 
to himself or the world. 



430 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

I was convinced of the truth of these remarks by 
readlno; an article in the last number of Baron 
Brisse's new journal, which began thus : — " ' There 
is nothing new under the sun,' said my illustrious and 
excellent friend, the poet Mery ; and he was right." 
It is possible that poet Mery did often use these 
words, and so have many other people been in the 
habit of doing. It is very probable that King The- 
odore of Abyssinia, for example, who claims to be 
the direct descendant of Solomon and desires to be- 
come the father-in-law of the Prince of Wales, is 
wont to employ them quite as frequently as poet 
M^ry , and one might say with a better warrant, con- 
sidering his lineage. Why then did M. le Baron 
Brisse attribute this saying to the latter rather than 
the former, or why, in short, did he not go back to 
its source and ascribe it to the sacred author in 
whose works it first appears? One can hardly 
avoid the inference that his professional enthusiasm 
had slightly overflowed its banks, as it were, and 
had stranded his genius by forcing it out of its nat- 
ural channel. This is unfortunate, for justice should 
always be done, even to those personages whom 
Bishop Colenso has extinguished. There are, more- 
over, still a few narrow-minded bigots who believe 
in Solomon and his family, in spite of the new hght 
that has dawned upon Natal, and these cannot see 
one of the Preacher's best remarks assigned to the 
" friend of Baron Brisse " without a feeling of dis- 
satisfaction, to say the least. I think it very likely 



SPARKS FROM THE KITCHEN FIRE. 431 

that tlie latter culinary litterateur^ in liis devotion 
to his art, is naturally anxious to elevate it as much 
as Hes in his power, and thought he could do it in 
no better way than by marrying one of his leaders 
to poet M^ry. He is probably right in this, though 
he was so unlucky in his quotation. The literature 
of the cuisine, though abundant, is not for the most 
part of a very high order. The prose is rarely in- 
spiring to ordinary minds, and its poetry has little 
to remind one of Milton or Dante. The muse is 
rather chary of her favors in this direction, and 
seldom or never descends from Olympus to the 
kitchen. "We have had barber-poets and shepherd- 
poets, shoemaker-poets and mason-poets, black- 
smith-poets and medical-poets, but I do not at this 
moment recall a single cook-poet. Obviously Terp- 
sichore finds but little sympathy with the nimble 
contortions of boiling lobsters, and Calliope never 
sings responsive to the sizzling of a frying-pan. 
There is doubtless more poetry in a pile of stones, 
or the " lUi inter sese multd vi hrachia tollunt " of 
the Cyclopes than in an " omelette soufflee,^'' however 
ethereal, or even the most spotless " riz au lait 
sucrSy And yet great men have deigned to cel- 
ebrate the delights of cookery in heroic hexameters, 
and even the illustrious Canning was not ashamed 
to portray the woes of one who presided over a 
" cuisine serieuse^ 

" On household cares intent, with many a sigh 
She forms the pancake and she moulds the pie; 



432 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

While still responsive to each mournful moan, 
The saucepan simmers in a softer tone." 

Frederick the Great, thougli busily employed in ac- 
cumulating materials for Carlyle's biography, nev- 
ertheless found time to express in metre his satis- 
faction with his chef Noel. As these royal poetics 
may not be familiar to this generation, I venture 
to give eight verses from the opening of the poem, 
which extends to no less than 136 lines. They 
serve to show that Macaulay's observations as to 
the King's literary abilities, were strikingly correct. 
If these were the stanzas that the scribbling con- 
queror gave to Voltaire to criticise, the latter is 
hardly to be blamed for complaining that His Ma- 
jesty sent him his dirty linen to wash. 

" Je ne ris point; vraiment, monsieur Noel, 
Vos grands talents vous rendent immortel. 
Vous possedez Texacte connaissance 
Des vegetaux; et votre expedience 
Assimulant discretement leurs sues 
Sait les lier au genre de ses sauces, 
Au doux parfum des jasmins et des roses. 
Qui fait le charme et des rois et des dues." 

It is quite plain that Frederick was not " good at 
these kickshaws," though this effort would certainly 
tend to show that his palate was more susceptible 
than that of Napoleon, whose cook could never 
tempt him to express his satisfaction at the daintiest 
sauce, and who was constrained to limit his powers 
to keeping on hand, day and night, a supply of 
chickens, cutlets, and coffee, ready to be served, that 
his master might eat at a moment's notice. Not- 



SPARKS FROM THE KITCHEN FIRE. 433 

withstanding the temptations of his capital, which 
Brillat Savarin calls ^'•Cite admirahlement gourmande 
et truffivore par excellence,^ ^ Napoleon never yielded 
to them in the least, and was no more of an epicure 
than St. Simeon Stylites. In this respect he offered 
a noticeable contrast to his contemporaries. George 
the Fourth gave £2000 a year to his chef, and ate 
himself to death with the pates he composed ; while 
Louis XVIII. gorged dinners of twenty courses, and 
between each two, by way of interlude, devoured a 
pork chop, which he gnawed from the bone. When 
that domestic philosopher, Mr. Pecksniff, whose 
practical wisdom I now quote for the second time, 
remarked that cream, sugar, butter, flour, and eggs 
had their moral, he spoke the truth. To this we 
may add, that when these are combined by the inge- 
nuity of a cook into every elaborate and titillating 
dainty, ruinous to the stomach and debasing in its 
effects upon the mind, they have their immoral also. 

" Etre bete c'est un defaut ; 
Etre gourmand est un vice." 

This many of the monarchs of Europe have satis- 
factorily proven. Gluttonous revelries have often 
accompanied the decadence of empires and beto- 
kened the decrepitude of princely lineage. George 
the Fourth was a new Heliogabalas, and Louis 
XVIII. a modern Sardanapalus. Each, like Antony, 
" filled his vacancy with his voluptuousness," and 
" full surfeits and the dryness of his bones " drained 
away the sap of life, and blasted the vigor that 
28 



434 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

might have adorned a throne with the clear light of 
virtue, if not with the radiance of great talents. 
The genius of Shakespeare has portrayed for the 
eternal inheritance of the world, the ruin of that 
great captain, who, deliberately casting from him 
the panoply of glorious war, wrapped himself in the 
soft mantle of sensuality ; who " wasted the lamps 
of night in revel," and became " the bellows and 
the fan to cool a gipsey's lust ; " who exchanged 
the food of fame, — " the roughest berry on the 
rudest hedge," — "the strange flesh which some 
did die to look on," — 

" The stale of horses and the gilded puddle 
Which beasts would cough at," — 

for luxurious meats, the wines of Chios and Fa- 
lernus, and the kisses of a wanton. Like Samson, 
he pulled down upon his own head " the wide arch 
of the ranged empire," and died the victim of his 
own sensual madness. " Victor victus " might well 
have been the motto of this conqueror. His piti- 
ful history should not be lost upon other victors, 
younger than he and living in a nobler age, who 
drown triumph in wasteful orgies, and taint the 
honorable labors and sacrifices of months with ex- 
cesses unworthy of their day and manhood. 

But I have unintentionally wandered from my 
subject, and for my excuse can only refer my 
readers to the maxim with which I began my letter. 
The good old times have passed away, and we 
never shall see again, in our day, assuredly, that 



SPARKS FROM THE KITCHEN FIRE. 435 

" Noble simplicite des grands temps hora^riques 

Ou Ton mangeait des boeufs embroches dans des piques." 

The times aforesaid were very old, and very good, 
doubtless, but I dare say we are, on the whole, 
better oiF as we are. They make excellent capital 
for poets who can find nothing else to write about, 
and we can well afford to be satisfied with the in- 
structions they have left behind them. A mutton 
chop is certainly preferable, on many grounds, to 
a spitted ox, and Norman veal to a Saxon calf. 
The Catos of the kitchen may fulminate against the 
piquant sauces, the plethoric and apoplectic truffles 
which the luxury of this era demands, and very 
properly. Still, our weaknesses are great, and a 
certain allowance must be made for the cravings 
of a demorahzed palate. But philosophers must, 
nevertheless, make good their position as censors of 
humanity, and if we don't practice* temperance in 
our daily life, it is at least gratifying to know that 
its precepts can be found in certain books, which 
we can read at home on Sunday, when the rest of 
the people are gone to church, instead of lying in 
bed, or smoking. Even Baron Brisse at times en- 
livens his columns with a sound truth, instead of 
always restricting himself to his everlasting " dassi- 
ques pots-au-feu,'' " diners serieux^'^ and "" poulets a 
la Marengo.'' For example, in the last issue I find 
some valuable information and advice in regard to 
the method of preparing and sending out invitations 
to dinner, which doubtless all my readers will take 



436 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

infinite pains to follow, as soon as it meets their 
ejes. He says, " these should be written in the 
morning before breakfast, on an empty stomach, 
' avec tout le calme de sang-froid et toute la maturite 
de la reflexion.^ They must be organized with dis- 
cernment, and the thought that it is almost as es- 
sential that the guests should be well selected, as 
regaled ; the matter should be attended to several 
days beforehand, and one should add his, or her, 
address to each note, send it by a sure route, 
and request an answer. With these precautions 
one is almost certain of providing against every an- 
noyance," — except, perhaps, the inconvenience of 
getting up so early to write without anything to eat, 
he might have added. And here again " Venthou- 
sias7ne du metier " leads the Baron to ride rough- 
shod over the prejudices of most people, and the 
laws that regulate their hygiene. Notwithstanding, 
this could be done by a resolute amphitryon and 
ought to be, for the Baron says he found the precept 
in the works of Grimod de la Reyniere, who was the 
very Socrates of cookery. Perhaps the latter did n't 
reflect, though, how much easier it is to write on 
some one else's empty stomach than his own. 

Again the Baron, in another number of his lit- 
erary saucepan, informs his numerous subscribers 
that he has discovered an important historical fact ; 
— not the place where Moses was buried, or the 
name of the sculptor who modeled the Venus de' 
Medici, or the original inventor of the mariner's com- 



SPARKS FROM THE KITCHEN FIRE. 437 

pass, — but lie has actually seen and conversed with 
the very person who originated " cartes du restavr 
rant^'^ or bills-of-fare, as we term those useful little 
additions to a dinner in the city. It seems that the 
Baron, exhausted with the labors of the day, and 
tired of planning the regular meals for thirty-eight 
millions of souls, had repaired to the Theatre des 
Varietes, in order to recruit. Another chief, scarce 
less illustrious, had, by an extraordinary coinci- 
dence, done the same thing from the same cause. 
This was Maitre Borain, of the old house of Desir^e 
Borain, — to which description the Baron somewhat 
curtly and unnecessarily adds, " the true Borain," — 
who had also come to refresh himself with the vi- 
vacities of Madame Schneider, in her part of the 
G-rande Duchesse de Gerolstein. Anent this play, the 
Baron, forgetting his ill-success in quoting from the 
works of poet Mery, attempts another hors d^oeuvre, 
by a theatrical criticism to the effect that this " ex- 
eellente houffonnerie gagnerait d etre moins assai- 
sonnee,^^ a culinary stricture which those who have 
seen the original spectacle will hardly appreciate. 
Between the acts, the Baron, descending from his 
lofty position as caterer for the French Empire, 
actually chatted — " eausait I " — with M. Borain. 
His condescension was not unrewarded, for the lat- 
ter, becoming communicative, informed him of all 
his antecedents, and among other things, that he 
himself had founded the wide-spread institution 
mentioned above. 



438 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

" You remember the ' restaurant Oreiver^ " said 
U vrai Borain^ opening his snuff-box and taking a 
pinch after offering it to the Baron, " to which the 
Revolution of 1848 gave some celebrity? I was 
its head-cook in 1844. In love with my art, and 
anxious to do my best for the customers, I pre- 
pared every dish, so to speak, for the particular taste 
of each one. The kitchen was at the entrance 
of the establishment, and the principal frequenters 
were accustomed, in passing, to consult me in regard 
to their dinner, and order it themselves. Others 
imitated them, and I was soon overwhelmed by the 
number of these applications. That I might not 
have so many questions to answer, I formed the 
plan of writing upon paper the dishes, resulting from 
the resources of the market for the day, and hang- 
ing it up at the door. The plan answered well, and 
generally they ordered their dinners after my list. 
One day some cigar-boxes having fallen into my 
hands, I took it into my head to cut two pieces out 
of them, and paste thereon the bills of fare, for- 
merly hung up at the entrance. These I placed in 
the saloons, and from thence originated the ' carte 
du jowr^ which was not slow to extend all over 
Paris, as well as elsewhere." 

To this account Baron Brisse, after thanking the 
genuine Borain in the name of all, says that it is an 
institution which has rendered and ever will render 
immense service to diners at restaurants, and, more- 
over, often aids in preventing "ladies of the best 



SPARKS FROM THE KITCHEN FIRE. 439 

position" from blushing at their own ignorance, 
when asking the waiters in a loud voice, for dishes 
that are out of season. This last bit of information 
may act as a consolation for those who suppose that 
only the English and Americans make themselves 
ridiculous under similar circumstances. It is a fresh 
instance of that tender regard for the proprieties of 
social life, which has ever been shown by our liter- 
ary amphitryon. For this he certainly deserves 
a better reward than he is likely to receive from 
our uncharitable age. Yet, though La Liberie de- 
clined to acknowledge his services, and even some- 
what rudely showed him the door, his memory will 
still linger, like a fragrant odor, around those tables 
whose daily appointments he provided. Perchance 
in Pere la Chaise may yet appear, from some 
thankful friend, at least a faint tribute to his sacri- 
fices, and the future historian of the palate and its 
victories may chronicle his epitaph, — 

CI-GIT 

LE BARON BRISSE. 

ON DINAIT BIEN CHEZ LUI. 

" Le veritable amphitryon 
Est 1' amphitryon ou Ton dine." 



CHAPTER XXX. 

EDDYSTONE LIGHT-HOUSE. 

Among the numerous excursions that may be 
made from the ancient city of Plymouth — which 
will always be full of the deepest interest to every 
son of New England — one of the most attractive 
is that to the light-house on the Eddystone Rocks. 
This remote and dangerous reef, the Plymouth 
Rock of the Old World, was destined, like that of 
Massachusetts, to link its name in history with the 
triumphs of the human mind, and the ennobling re- 
sults of unconquerable energy, far-sighted talent, 
and persevering toil. It has now stood for more 
than a century, a lonely column in a wild waste 
of waters, and, like a pillar of cloud by day and 
fire by night, has guided the wandering tribe of 
ocean safely to their desired haven. A prouder 
mausoleum than this no man could desire to leave 
behind him. Sir Christopher Wren, conscious of 
his genius, and exulting in the magnificent cathedral 
he was to bequeath to posterity, might well dictate 
the epitaph, '^ If you seek my monument, look 
around." Yet St. Paul's now serves but as a tomb 
for himself and the last resting-place of the nation's 



EDDYSTONE LIGHT-HOUSE. 441 

dead, while the simple and unadorned work of 
Smeaton for more than a hundred years has shed 
down its beneficent rays upon mankind, and, we 
trust, will continue so to do while time shall last. 
Cowley, in lines of noble and fervent meaning, in- 
quires, — 

•' "What shall I do to be forever known, 
And make the age to come my own? " 

Smeaton answered the question in simple hiero- 
glyphics of massy rock, and lived to see the yearn- 
ing hope of his soul become the fullness of fruition. 
In his narrative of the building of the light-house 
he tells us of the honorable confidence in the future 
with which his zeal inspired him. " But in con- 
templating the use and benefit of such a structure 
as this, my ideas of what its duration and continued 
existence ought to be, were not confined within the 
boundary of an age or two, but extended them- 
selves to look towards a possible perpetuity." That 
this trust was not disappointed, was due to his 
own heroic pluck guided by judicious talent, and 
that we to-day enjoy the benefits arising from it, is 
owing to his determination that, like Milton, he 
would " eternize " his name here on earth, and 
record it so indelibly that mankind could not let it 
die. To this natural strength and vitality of his 
character, the religious element that deeply per- 
vaded it lent additional force. Grateful for its aid, 
he ever acknowledged it, and was not unwilling 
that the work of his hands should be an offering to 



442 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

God. Round the upper store-room, gi'aven upon 
the stone in characters designed never to be erased, 
can still be seen the words from Holy Writ, " Ex- 
cept the Lord build the house, they labor in vain 
that build it." — Psalm cxxvii. Upon the last 
block set, over the door of the lantern, are the 
words, " 24th August, 1759, Laus Deo." Thus did 
religious fervor place its final seal upon the altar 
it had erected in honor of the Supreme Being, and 
thus displayed the sincerity of its devotion, like the 
Pilgrims when they consecrated anew to His ser- 
vice their lives, their labors, and all that was theirs. 
The Eddystone rocks are six in number, or at 
least six names are applied to them, though really 
they all form one long ledge divided by a deep 
channel near the centre. At high tide, they are al- 
most covered, except the abrupt peak upon which 
the light-house stands, which projects about fifteen 
feet above the water at its highest part. It slopes 
in a rather steep incline towards the southwest, and 
from this direction comes the full strength of the 
waves that dash upon and over the edifice. This 
latter is eighty-five feet in height above the top of 
the crag, into whose sloping surface it is dovetailed 
and mortised, so as to constitute a piece of the rock 
itself, as far as this can be effected by human skill. 
The blocks composing it are, moreover, linked to- 
gether by chains running through them horizontally 
and imbedded in melted lead. The whole thus 
forms a mass of stone, with a shaft penetrating its 



EDDYSTONE LIGHT-HOUSE. 443 

centre, and there seems at present to be no reason 
why it should not last as long as the support upon 
which it rests. Its situation is greatly exposed, 
for the giant billows rolling in from the Atlantic 
throw their whole vehemence upon any obstacle 
with a fury which, it would appear to an inexpe- 
rienced observer, must inevitably crush it to atoms. 
And yet it is not always the greatest heaps of water 
that test most severely the strength of the beacon, 
though they often leap to an elevation twice as high 
as its lantern. The keepers told me that these 
caused hardly a perceptible oscillation. It is when 
the tide is half high in a strong wind, and the com- 
bined surges are hurled up the sloping reef and con- 
centrate their force upon the base of the tower, that 
the noise is most deafening and the motion most 
evident. Even under such circumstances the vi- 
bration is hardly felt, and it has never been known 
to exceed three inches from the perpendicular. 
There is an apparatus in the room immediately un- 
der the lantern, by which any movement can be 
measured with accuracy, and every extraordinary 
agitation is thus observed. The edifice is painted 
in alternate belts of red and white, about twenty 
feet in width, that it may be distinguished from 
other lights, and also seen from the greatest possible 
distance. Nothing more solitary or depressing than 
its position can be imagined. The nearest land is a 
tall promontory called Ram's Head, nine miles away, 
and from this it is nearly eight miles farther to Ply- 



444 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

mouth. The depth of water between the ledge and 
the shore varies from two to three hundred feet. 
At my visit, which was made in a sail- boat from 
Plymouth, the approach seemed forbidding enough. 
Before me lay the long ragged reef, gradually rising 
to the sharper projection of the end on which the 
light-house stands. This latter is twenty- six feet in 
diameter at the summit, and its foundation perhaps 
double that. The rock was covered with barnacles 
and sea-weed, which rose and fell in dripping sheets 
with the dashing of the waves. It was clammy and 
dank, slippery with ooze, and affording only the 
most treacherous foothold. The tide at this locality 
ebbs and flows eighteen feet. Eight or ten steps 
led from the door of the building to the edge of the 
precipice. From this point, the friendly care of the 
keepers extended me a rope ladder of eight rounds. 
Between the end of this and my craft was a vacuum 
of about six feet. The boat skipped nimbly about 
like a frisky colt, first throwing me against the drip- 
ping and greasy rock, and then pulling me away 
suddenly just as I felt sure of a mount. However, 
with the aid of the parties above and the boatmen 
below, I finally was hoisted and pulled into the build- 
ing, where I spent the next thirty minutes in a 
state of what might be appropriately called half-and- 
half. A moiety of intense enjoyment at the thought 
that I was on a spot where I had always ardently 
desired and never expected to be, and a moi- 
ety of apprehension as to how I could possibly get 



EDDYSTONE LIGHT-HOUSE. 445 

back to the conveyance that brought me thither. 
It was like the Government of the Czar, a des- 
potism tempered by assassination. 

The keepers were very kind, and showed me 
everything in their vicinity. Though their resi- 
dence did strike me as bearing a strong resemblance 
to a well ordered chimney-flue, I was gratified to 
see how much comfort could be condensed into such 
contracted quarters. There are always three men 
in charge, each wearing the blue uniform of the 
British navy. The night is divided into three 
watches, extending from sunset, when the lamp is 
lighted, to sunrise, when the flame is extinguished. 
In these comparatively high latitudes, of course, the 
nights are much longer in winter, and the work far 
more onerous than in summer on that account, as 
well as from the greatly increased violence of the 
ocean. The keepers are relieved once every month, 
so that each man has only four weeks of service al- 
ternating with the same period of leisure on shore. 
They go to and from their duties in the cutter which 
comes every fortnight to supply them with the 
necessary fuel and provisions. These they are 
obliged to pay for themselves out of their wages of 
six pounds per month. Years ago, the Admiralty 
Board furnished these, but certain of the employes 
being no way scrupulous, sold them in some in- 
stances for liquor, after which the present plan was 
adopted. There is, however, always a store of food 
belonging to the government kept in the house, to 



446 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

be eaten in case of a prolonged storm reducing tlie 
occupants to distress. If the latter use these, the 
value thereof is deducted from their wages. Their 
rations, as might be expected, are plain, though of 
good quality. Fish are very plenty in the water 
around, and from the rocks they catch abundant sup- 
plies of chad and bream. In their kitchen is a very 
neat stove of good size, which has an oven capable 
of cooking anything fi'om a pie to a potato. This 
room contains also a bookcase with a library of 
about seventy volumes, and a timepiece made by 
Smeaton himself. This is a regular kitchen clock of 
the old fashion, like the one about which Miss Jane 
Taylor wrote her world-renowned fable. It is six 
feet high, and still in good working order. It has 
the peculiarity of striking every half hour, and bears 
ample evidence of the good workmanship of its 
maker. In his day, things were obviously made to 
last. Though its situation is very near the top of 
the tower, the keepers informed me that the vibra- 
tions had never been sufficient to stop it. In the 
apartment above this, are three very comfortable 
beds in recesses partly hollowed out of the wall. 
Here habit enables their occupants to sleep tran- 
quilly, in spite of the thundering crash with which 
the liquid battering-ram is hourly hurled against the 
structure. The light is on the dioptric principle, and 
gives out a pure, steady, white flame, greatly mag- 
nified and strengthened by the lenses through which 
its radiance passes. There are three wicks, one 



EDDYSTONE LIGHT-HOUSE. 447 

within another, which are fed from a reservoir of 
rape oil, which incessantly flows through and over 
them. The portion not consumed is again pumped 
up to be used another time. As in the case of 
other light-houses, birds are often attracted by 
the brilliant glow, and with heedless and destruc- 
tive fascination dash themselves against it, only to 
be stunned by tlie shock and fall into the weaves 
below them. These are principally blackbirds, 
thrushes, and such small feathered deer on their 
migrating passages across the Channel. Immense 
flocks of starlings frequently avail themselves of 
this opportunity to pay a tribute to the genius of 
Smeaton, and cover every ''jutty, frieze, buttress, 
and coigne of advantage " that will afford them the 
least footing. As one of the men said, " They 
might be scooped up by the bushel." The keepers 
lauo;hed at the stories which have been so often 
told in regard to the effects of their residence on 
that dismal isle upon their minds, causing misan- 
thropy, disgust wdth life, and incipient insanity. 
They seemed cheerftil and happy, and said their 
health did not suffer, nor did they find this mode of 
life distastefril. Judging from their appearance, 
however, I should say that they were not well, for 
their faces were thin and pale, and they certainly 
did not look, by any means, in good bodily condition 
when I saw them. This might have arisen from 
causes originating before they came to this spot, and 
one could hardly form an accurate opinion on this 



448 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

subject from a single observation. Thej surely 
ought to know whether their employment is salu- 
brious or not. 

I enjoyed my stay there very much, and when it 
drew to its close was not sensible of any change for 
the worse in my sanitary state. The tide had al- 
ready ebbed still lower when I came out upon the 
unctuous steps that led to the brink of the rocks, 
and my boat looked far more inaccessible than I 
could wish. However, the longer I waited the 
worse it was, and so with many nervous clutches, 
I lowered myself down to the end of the shaky 
ladder. Here for a moment hanging in suspense, 
I thought of " one that gathers samphire — dread- 
ful trade ! " experienced a passing feeling of pleas- 
ure that the rope might have had a less satisfactory 
ending than it did, and then committed myself to 
space. I alighted on the members designed by na- 
ture to support my person, and that without making 
a hole in the bottom of my tipsy boat. Shaking 
myself, I found no timbers sprung either in my body 
or the craft, and after reeling about for a season in 
an uncertain way, regained my seat, and waving a 
last adieu to my hospitable entertainers, shot off 
under full sail for Plymouth. Though the light- 
house is thus difficult of access, I might have labored 
under far greater hindrances than were really en- 
countered in approaching it. A photograph has 
lately been taken of the edifice, and while on the 
ledge I could not help thinking of the obstacles in 



EDDYSTONE LIGHT-HOUSE. 449 

the way of the artist's success. He was obhged to 
carry a large camera to the end of a reef nearly two 
hundred feet long, and half under water. On either 
side of this narrow neck of slimy and sharp pointed 
rocks, the waves tossed, heaved, and splashed their 
spray. A single misstep would have been fatal, and 
yet the work was done, and that in a way that would 
have extorted the admiration of Smeaton himself. 
This instance affords another evidence of the vari- 
ous qualities that are required in good photograph- 
ers the present day. They certainly, as a class, 
show themselves worthy of their profession. They 
are everywhere to be found in its practice, from the 
summit of Mont Blanc, to the surge-lashed crags 
of the ocean. Their success is creditable, not only 
to their skill as artists, but equally to their courage 
and steadiness of head and hand. With many of 
them, as with the engineer of Eddys tone, natural 
difficulties but spur them on to greater and more 
worthy achievements ; and thus it happens, as it did 
to him, that 

" Winds blow and waters roll 
Strength to the brave, and power, and deity." 

Much has been said in regard to the original 
model of the light-house, which its designer states 
was suggested to him by the trunk of an oak. This 
may have been the truth, at least Smeaton prob- 
ably thought so, but it could have been only the 
remote germ, like Newton's apple, of a great prin- 
ciple in engineering, thoroughly thought out and 
29 



450 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

skillfully carried into execution. The building, in 
its present shape and proportions, offers but little 
similarity to the bole of an oak, and its chief 
strength comes, like that of the tree, from its tenac- 
ity rather than its form. The trunk of an oak is low 
and thick, and the heavy mass of branches and foli- 
age which arise therefrom nearly covers and protects 
it from the assaults of the wind. It is not there 
that the ultimate strain comes, but upon the gigan- 
tic size and spread of the roots, which are so firmly 
anchored in the soil that only the most violent 
storms can uptear them. And the same is the fact 
in regard to Eddystone Beacon, which is so intri- 
cately interwoven, as it were, with the rock on 
which it stands that it really forms a part thereof. 
Additional strength is also given by the slope of the 
tower, which is so planned that the gathering 
billows, rushing up the gradual incline of the reef, 
may, so far as is possible, spend their force for 
naught, like one beating the air. As has been 
shown in the Plymouth and Cherbourg break- 
waters, the waves themselves finally arrange the 
stones in the form that offers the least hindrance 
to their progress. Doubtless Smeaton knew the 
fact and did his best to dispose the foundations of 
his edifice — for, as I have said before, the main 
pressure is exerted upon these — in a way to allow 
the water to push, as it were, against nothing. 
In this respect his invention resembles the reed, 
rather than the oak, which the old fable tells us 



EDDYSTONE LIGHT-HOUSE. 451 

saved Itself by bowing before the storm; for the 
ascent up which the breakers are impelled, offers an 
easy slide to their progress, and when they reach 
the upper portion of the rounded structure, their 
diminished impetus can no longer overthrow the 
obstacle. This is not the way that the gale attacks 
an oak, or tests its resistance, but it is at least an 
approach to the form under which a reed rides out 
the gale in safety. 

But whatever may have been the theory from 
which this great work sprung, its complete success 
has placed it high among the trophies of our age 
and race. Its builder conquered the world for him- 
self through a more than Alexandrian victory. It 
was grand in its conception, wonderftil in its devel- 
opment, and magnificent in its final perfection. It 
now stands, like an ocean epic, a mighty fact, noble 
in its simple truth and complete in its adaptation to 
its desimied uses. It is one of the bricrhtnesses of 
England, " sent from heaven to earth to reveal a 
wonder," and offer manifold testimony of the divine 
inspiration of genius, aided by persistent strength, 
and tenfold more puissant through its nervous pluck. 
Tipped with Promethean fire, it remains the type 
of its maker, battling with the billows, like a clear- 
faced king confronting the hosts of a numerous and 
mighty enemy. Grafted to the solid crust of the 
earth itself, it shall long remain, stable as his fame 
and as encouraging to humanity. As I wrote these 
words I could see from my window its clear and 



452 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

ruddy fire, as of an miflickering star that never 
sets. It was an omen of good, shedding its mild 
light over the fading joys of the past, and dispersing 
with its unclouded rays the shadows cast athwart 
the future. 

" Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same, 
Year after year, through all the silent night, 

Burns on for evermore that quenchless flame, — 
Shines on that inextinguishable light! " 



CHAPTER XXXI. 



DIVERS FACETI^. 



Not many weeks since, while taking a cup of tea 
on the Champs Elysees^ I was somewhat startled by 
the advent of one of my fellow-countrymen. He 
w^as a young fellow, of perhaps seventeen years, and 
carried under his arm a " Harpers' Guide-Book." 
Suddenly and without any intimation of what he 
designed to do, he appeared in the doorway and 
exclaimed in the language that he had inherited 
from the Forefathers, with as loud a voice as if he 
were " interpellating " the triumphal arch : " How 
much do you ask for a dinner here ? " This little 
proceeding would probably have been regarded as 
novel in any country, even in the home of unmiti- 
gated freedom of thought and action, but to me, 
reflecting on the great variety of the style of repast 
demanded, from the humble bouillon au lait up to 
the elaborate and costly compositions of M. Gouffe ; 
that my young friend, as far as concerned any hope- 
ful result, might as well have addressed his remarks 
in the speech of the ancient Greeks ; and, moreover, 
that the establishment on whose threshold he stood 
was onlv a cafe^ where no dinners were ever served, 



454 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

it seemed that my countryman displayed an indepen- 
dence of ordinary social conventionalities that really 
approached the sublime. I think that youth will 
be heard from ao;ain. His method of securino- a 
meal was certainly peculiar, and yet it showed a 
kind of lofty confidence that despised all common 
obstacles, and was designed to go straight to the 
mark like the ball from a Parrott gun. It might 
have appeared presumption in most men, but was 
quite worthy of a citizen of a young and victorious 
republic. It brought to my mind a similar incident 
that came to my knowledge a long time ago. A 
party of Americans were stopping at a French 
hotel. Among them was a young lady in whose 
system Nature had implanted a weakness for baked 
apples. This estimable fruit, prepared in that way, 
is unknown in Paris. In the crude state, it is ad- 
mired ; enshrined in a tart, it is adored ; but they 
never develop its graces, like the flowers on a 
china vase, by mortifying the lusts of its rather un- 
refined flesh in an oven. Mademoiselle had, never- 
theless, made up her mind to satisfy her cravings, 
and the first day of her appearance at breakfast 
asked for some baked apples. She did not get 
them, for the simple reason that none of the people 
in the hotel knew what she meant. The second 
day, on taking her seat, she said simply and curtly, 
" I should like some baked apples." The next day, 
" I want some baked apples." On the fourth, she 
came like an inevitable doom and froze the muscles 



DIVERS FACETIJE. 455 

of the waiters by the words, '' I must have some 
baked apples." The morning of the fifth day, the 
family, on approaching the table, found their per- 
severing relative seated with a plate of that fruit 
before her. How this result was attained was 
never known. By what mysterious operation the 
waiters discovered the meanino; of those Eno;lish 
words, for Mademoiselle spoke no other language, 
and by what process they succeeded in imparting it 
to the cook, will probably always remain a secret, 
except to themselves. I am inclined to attribute it 
to the abstract strength of the human intellect, 
working through a vigorous and unflinching agent, 
and, doubtless, if the young gentleman first referred 
to had come to the threshold of that cafe for five suc- 
cessive evenings and ]3ropounded the same question, 
he would have learned " how much they asked for 
a dinner," and that in spite of the impediments 
above enumerated. 

Many years ago while travelling in Austria, I fell 
in with a young Englishman. He was alone, and 
as I had no duplicate we journeyed together a few 
days. At that time Ollendorff's plan of teaching 
languages was in vogue, and the Continent was 
covered with people busily putting it into practice, 
to the great exasperation of the natives and their 
own discomfiture. Men and women, with praise- 
worthy industry, committed to memory such graphic 
and instructive questions as " Have you the blue 
buttons of my fiither's ugly cow ? " " Where are 



456 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

the wooden tongs of the good carpenter ? " with 
others of similar tenor, and straightway thought 
themselves capable of carrying on glib and lively 
conversation in any foreign tongue. My new ac- 
quaintance had been promoting his natural faculties 
in this way by the study of German, and felt com- 
petent for anything in that line. His phrases struck 
me as to a certain extent crude, and needing a little 
maturing to bring out their virtues, but he evidently 
did not look upon his rapid acquisitions in that light. 
. One day at Vienna we went to a large bathing es- 
tablishment, which is very much resorted to by the 
inhabitants of that rather dirty city. It is built on a 
scale of great splendor, and surrounded with flow- 
ers and trees. All the appointments are costly and 
elegant, and one finds there not only the usual 
accompaniments of such a place, but refreshments of 
every kind. The visitor can reanimate himself both 
externally and internally, with every sort of gratifi- 
cation, foreign or domestic, for the palate or the 
epidermis. He can take a haiii CJiinois^ and follow 
it up with j^oulets a la Confucius ; he can have his 
skin scorched a la Turque^ till a lobster would look 
white beside him, and then satiate his fiery pangs 
by a pillau of curried rice ; or he can simply mollify 
his exterior by the use of unsophisticated soap and 
water an naturel^ and tone it down by a cup of 
Teutonic coffee. As my fellow-traveller, whom I 

will style Mr. B , as that was not his name, — 

seemed to need no help and rather scorned its offer, 



DIVERS FACETIJE. 457 

I left him to his own devices. When he came forth 
from the little watery den in which he had been 
parboiling himself, I asked him how he liked it. 

" Pretty well," replied he ; " but don't they give 
you rather queer soap ? " 

"Why, it was brown Windsor, wasn't it?" said 
I, with the air of one who knows. " It was what I 
had." 

" I don't know what they gave you, but mine 
was n't brown, and it was n't like any Windsor that 
I ever saw. I suppose it 's their style, though, and 
I 've no fault to find." 

" What did it look like ? " said I. 

" It was thick and white, and they brought it in 
a bowl." 

" In a bowl? Well, that surpasses ! " replied I. 
" Let us ask one of the waiters and find what it 
means. If there is anything new on the tapis I 
should like to understand it." 

It required very little time for an explanation. 
In a few expressive words, eked out with many 
suggestive shrugs of his shoulders and intimative 
winks, the garpon informed me that the gentleman 
had ordered what he understood to be soup. As 
the dish for that day was veal soup, which is thick 
and white, when well made, he had brought a foam- 
ing bowl of it, and it was with the aid of this that 
Mr. B. had performed his ablutions. With some 
difficulty restraining the laughter that convulsed 
me internally, I asked him to explain how he had 



458 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

employed this elegant unguent for the adornment 
of his person. This he j^roceeded to do. Looking 
upon it as a novel cosmetic, a new kind of almond 
paste, for example, he had apphed it vigorously to 
his head, copiously to his body, and rubbed it in con 
furore in his efforts to get up a lather. Failing in 
this, and exuding essence of calf at every pore, he 
had done the next best thing, and philosophically 
given himself an elaborate friction with a towel, 
like a cabinet-maker polishing up a bit of second- 
hand furniture. He had not been entirely success- 
ful, however, in removing all vestiges of the me- 
dium, for here and there traces of the unctuous 
ointment were still visible in a sort of sympathetic 
and pertinacious glow, more prononce on some parts 
of his face than others. Glancing slyly round the 
corner of one eye, I could yet distinguish some 
remnants of the conflict linsierin.g; at the roots of his 
hair. They appeared to have found a congenial 
home, a pleasing tete-d-tete^ as it were, from which 
no merely muscular antipathy could dislodge them. 
He did not enjoy the explanation, which I at once 
gave him with natural gratification, the more espe- 
cially that before it was half finished the waiter 
was obliged to retire behind a screen to laugh, or 
rather to choke. The latter evidently regarded Mr. 
B. very much as the grinning post-boy looked upon 
Mr. Winkle, when he whispered to the waiter, 
" Blowed if the gen'lm'n worn't a-gettin' up on the 
wrong side." Mr. B. was disposed to be furious at 



DIVERS FACETIAE. 459 

first, and talked of impositions on strangers, a letter to 
the "Times," &c., &c., but before long he gradually 
came to listen to reason, particularly when I demon- 
strated to him in the clearest way, that veal soup 
was not designed to be digested on the outside of 
one's body, and the process was naturally difficult 
and laborious, since there had been provided a far 
more eifective and agreeable method. I noticed 
that he never thought of abusing the real source of 
his trouble in the omission by Herr Ollendorff of a 
laconic platitude, especially adapted to his case. I 
said nothing, but could not help thinking, " My 
friend, if the great dispenser of modern languages 
and patron of Babelistic and linguistic composition 
had only thought to add to his choice array of iso- 
lated imbecilities, ' Where is the true soap of the 
heavy Englishman ? ' or its equivalent, it would 
have been money in your pocket." 

And yet, in spite of my friend's ignorance of Ger- 
man, and in fact of every other language but his 
own, which led him to " eat strange flesh " in sev- 
eral instances besides that which I have mentioned, 
I could not but commend his plan of travelling 
without a courier. Though these servants are in- 
dispensable in many cases, and really do save pater 
familias and his retinue a world of trouble, yet they 
are often not so necessary as they seem, and their 
frequent dishonesty and collusion with the hotel- 
keepers and shopmen, in extorting plunder from 
helpless tourists, make them a perpetual aggrava- 



460 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

tion. But these qualities are no more annoying, 
than the facihty they possess for distorting tlie Eng- 
lish and every other language. Like the Emperor 
Sigismund, they are supr^a grammaticam^ while their 
etymology would shock Dame Juliana Berners, 
Mistress Quickly, Mrs. Malaprop, or Mrs. Parting- 
ton. Some friends of mine, who have lately been 
making the tour of Europe with one of these mur- 
derers of Anglo-Saxon, were treated to such enter- 
tainments as the following. Having one day vis- 
ited the Castle of St. Angelo at Rome, their courier 
took them to a dark and smoky dungeon, and in- 
formed them that this was the place " where Bea- 
trice Cenci was damned to be executed." Being 
asked the meaning of Ecce Jiomo, he replied that the 
words were Spanish, and signified " What a man ! " 
At Pompeii, when visiting the spot where were 
found the remains of the Roman soldiers who per- 
ished rather than abandon their post, he said, " Here 
they dug up eighty skillets." On another day, 
when they were discussing their plans for the fu- 
ture, he horrified them by suggesting that they 
should go to the sculpture gallery at the Vatican 
and see " the Greek sculpins." All this appears 
v^ery amusing to read, but is not particularly enter- 
taining to those who go abroad in search of infor- 
mation, and at the same time, have no appreciation 
of the humorous. An English lady told me that 
her courier conducted her to the church where the 
Moses of Michel Angelo sits in gk)omy and frowning 



DIVERS FACETIJE. 461 

grandeur, and, stopping before the statue with a 
profound salutation, said impressively, as if introduc- 
ing two high contracting parties to each other for 
the first time, " Madam, this is Noah." 

These are only a few of the thousand examples 
that every traveller meets with. The couriers are, 
in general, small-minded men, and as they frequently 
claim to speak four or five, and sometimes more 
languages, with fluency, perhaps they may be partly 
excused if they make a sort of pot-pourri of them 
all. The same thing often happens to persons of 
much higher claims to mental capacity, especially 
when one has not a great faculty for acquiring 
other tongues than his vernacular, and for remem- 
bering their more nicely-defined distinctions. In 
Venice I met an Englishman who had lived there 
so long that he had actually forgotten his own 
tongue, and was in the habit of using a sort of mixed 
patois or macaronic dialect, picked up and ingen- 
iously arranged in a sort of picturesque mosaic. 
Some years ago, at an entertainment given by the 

Austrian Governor, Mr. , being hlase of the 

heavy and dull formality of the scene, fell asleep, or 
at least dozed, for a moment, while leaning against a 
column. Unluckily he was noticed in this position 
by his Excellency himself, who watched till he re- 
covered the use of his faculties, and then said, with 

genial malice, " M. , vous avez rcve^ He was 

somewhat startled at the reply, — " iVb, voire Excel- 
lence^ je n'ai pas ge-dreamt.''' I commend to the 



462 CONTINENTAL SKETCHES. 

attention of those of my readers who have dabbled 
in French and German, the clever way in which the 
British lion managed to interweave these languages 
with his own ; but I doubt if His Excellency fairly 
understood the answer, nevertheless. This gentle- 
man was one of the great oddities of Venice in his 
time, and used to excite attention by the most ab- 
surd exploits that his eccentric brain could devise. 
He made a bet, when in one of his wildest vagaries, 
that he would ride a horse across the Grand Canal. 
This was a pretty difficult matter. In the first 
place, that animal is as rare in Venice as a mermaid 
or a salamander, and, with the exception of the four 
in bronze in front of St. Mark's Church, which 

even Mr. would hardly have undertaken to 

use for the purpose aforesaid, has hardly ever ap- 
peared there at all. Yet our friend proved himself 
equal to the emergency and carried off the spoils. 
A steed was brought from the main-land, his fore 
feet were placed in one gondola, his hind feet in 
another, and the crazy equestrian rode him, with 
the aid of a dozen stout gondoliers, to the other 
shore in triumph, amid the enthusiastic applause of 
all Venice, who had crowded to see the performance. 
In foolhardiness this surpasses the deeds of most 
men, and no one but an Englishman would ever 
have thought of it. It calls to mind a similarly 
foolish and dangerous feat of Squire Mytton, who 
made a wager that he could place the hind legs of 
his favorite mare in his coat-pockets, and did so, 



DIVERS FACETIJE. 463 

at the risk of liavino- lils brains dashed out. On 
the Continent, such acts are never understood, and 
are generally looked upon as the caprices of a per- 
turbed intellect. It Is the same In India, where 
the natives, though obliged to submit to their con 
querors, yet regard them at times, when in the full 
swing of some strange outbreak of fantastic singu- 
larity, in the same light that they look upon the 
Ill-regulated capers of a troop of apes. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 



LATENT NATURE. 



Among tlie myriad products of human ingenuity 
which the Great Exhibition lavishes upon its visitors, 
one cannot avoid being impressed with the various 
forms by which the ever-increasing sympathy of our 
age with the works of Nature is illustrated. This 
broadening life, this health-giving vigor, appears 
not merely as the dictate of a selfish spirit of spec- 
ulation that sees in the tastes of the wealthy and re- 
fined a source of pecuniary gain, but is as often the 
result of inborn and instinctive tendencies, crav- 
ings, as it were, of the clear spirit, which lead it to 
approach both with reverence and admiration the 
most winning aspects of Nature, and to do its utmost 
to preserve them in a durable form for its own en- 
joyment and the benefit of mankind. One sees this 
in the photographs of scenery, for example, which 
are displayed in great numbers, many of them being 
admirably done, and that by amateurs for their own 
amusement. These are often, in fact I may more 
properly say for the most part, simple and unpre- 
tending in their subjects. A single cloud, with its 
subtle texture " lit as with inner hght," and from 



LA TENT NA TURE. 465 

its varied and ever changing fringe of radiant mist 
dispensing the last rays that the setting sun has be- 
queathed to it ; a soUtary tree selected with the eye 
of an artist, and forming with its furrowed bole the 
vegetable monument of ages, — its rugged branches 
thrust out clear and strong towards the bright sky, 
every leaf and every lineament of its varied expres- 
sion portrayed in delicately contrasted light and 
shade, while here and there the ivy clings around 
it, binds up the wounds of time, and, like the con- 
soling truths which the genuine poet imparts to us, 
shields it from the melancholy visitations of the sky ; 
a long strip of sandy shore, — 

" The beachy girdle of the ocean. 
Too wide for Neptune's hips," — 

drawing the eye by its extended curve far into the 
distance, while unnumbered waves dance out their 
brief evanescence in the sunlight, for an instant 
toss up their white caps, or blossom like ocean dai- 
sies, and then, urged by resistless fate, cast their glit- 
tering ranks upon the shore to die ; all these and 
more, chosen at their best estate by the prompt sug- 
gestions of a nice taste, and preserved for the delight 
and encouragement of man, fascinate our minds as 
we rove from place to place, like the transient and 
cheering gleam of the distant beacon, seen athw^art 
tossing billow^s and a cloudy sky. It is thus that 
photography ministers to the pleasures of the age, 
and the sun himself fixes for our learning the infi- 



466 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

nite forms of beauty which he has ever scattered 
over the earth. 

This is but one of the phases under which we, in 
this century of grace, have become familiar with the 
mighty power of hght. The experiments of Fara- 
day, Tyndall, and other savants serve to show liow 
Httle we comprehend the real place it occupies among 
the agencies of Nature. We read that " God is 
light," and these words doubtless bear a depth of 
meaning that is lost upon a superficial mind, while 
science earnestly strives to fathom it. The present 
tendency of philosophical research would seem to 
intimate that Yxoht is the manifestation of the Divine 
Spirit upon the earth, as well as the ultimate source 
of every display of Nature's attributes ; that it com- 
bines within its ethereal essence both the bodily and 
mental life of man, and permeates the soul itself 
through numberless and mysterious channels. Says 
Dante, — 

" O light impregnated 
With mighty virtue, from which I acknowledge 
All of my genius, whatsoe'er it be." 

One often encounters passages of similar tenor in 
Milton, Spenser, and other poets, which there is no 
space to quote here. Doubtless in this, as in other 
cases. Infinite Wisdom has inspired them to write 
those truths, " broad and general as the casing air," 
which are ever confided to the heaven-born poet, and 
which constitute him the high-priest of God on earth, 
conquering and to conquer over all the broad domain 



LATENT NATURE. 467 

of Nature, and finding no limit to his wise and ben- 
eficent rule. Into his soul is poured the bright 
effulgence of that Spirit of God which, in the begin- 
ning, " moved upon the face of the waters," and 
which then had not imparted its procreant influ- 
ences to one made in His image. Thus the poet, 
irresistibly drawn near to the day-spring of his be- 
ing and quickened by inborn sympathies and crav- 
ings of which his own instincts teach him the origin, 
feels strongly the need of light, and its loss " infects 
the very life-blood of his enterprise." Hence Mil- 
ton, in that prolonged requiem which comes fi:*om 
the mouth of the hero of Israel, " eyeless in Gaza 
at the mill with slaves," pours forth the sadness of 
his own soul in the bitter lamentation, — 

" dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon; 
Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse 
Without all hope of day." 

To this he adds, with unwitting foresight, as if grasp- 
ing for a reality as yet but dimly revealed, and faintly 
conscious of a certain and ever present power un- 
known to others, but which his own mournful con- 
dition had led him to reflect upon and appreciate, — 

" Since light so necessarj'^ is to life 
And almost life itself, if it be true 
That light is in the soul, 
She all in every part." 

How forcible is the contrast with the lofty vigor 
and triumphant independence of Dante, when, in 
full possession of his faculties of body and mind, he 
exclaims, in language as grand as the chant of mar- 



468 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

tyrs seeing the bright circle of the angelic host be- 
yond their flames, " What ! shall I not everywhere 
enjoy the light of the sun and stars ? and may I not 
seek and contemplate in every corner of the earth 
under the canopy of heaven consoling and delight- 
fiil truth ? " How glorious are these words, and 
how clearly do they convey to the mind the delights 
and aspirations of that poet, after whom " no seraph 
touched human lips with hallowed fire ! " and not 
only to him do they apply, but to every one who 
has in his heart the yearnings of a noble soul, and 
strives, weakly though his efforts be, to comprehend 
the length and breadth and height of that rich in- 
heritance which is laid up for those who would earn 
a life beyond a life, and seeks to crown himself with 
an incorruptible diadem. He shall share the re- 
ward of those who, when in life, fearlessly spoke 
the truth on glorious themes, and for him shall " the 
congregation of the dead make room." 

Among the prominent attractions of the Exhibi- 
tion are many photographs taken from original and 
unpublished sketches by Gustave Dore. In this 
artist has appeared a competent interpreter of Dante 
and other poets, Avho is quick to symbolize to the 
world the grandeur of their disembodied thoughts 
in forms more suggestive than language to the 
masses. For to these the eye generally offers far 
more permanent and prolific impressions than the 
ear, and into their chilled and ill-developed faculties 
words often infuse but scantily the breath of life. 



LATENT NATURE, 469 

He has an innate appreciation, unconsciously to 
himself, of the highest type of poetical imagery, and 
often traces it out to its fullest development. With 
the all-pervading vitality of light, for example, he 
has a pregnant sympathy, and in some of the illus- 
trations of Dante he has diffused over the page a 
glow like that of " the perfect day." One of 
these, in which the poet gazes with prolonged ec- 
stasy upon tlie object of his affection, enlarges even 
the wide meaning of the poetry. The admirers of 
the bard award it their universal homage. The 
strength of our own sight is increased when, like the 
mental vision of the fervent lover, — 

" It views a lady placed in honor high, 
Who, in her brightness shining splendidly, 
Unto his pilgrim spirit thus appears." 

Not only the glory of celestial beauty, but the ardor 
of the poet's love, seems to radiate from the page ; 
the clear light of a more than mortal passion flashes 
therefrom, and infuses into the soul the warmth 
of its own rapture. It is fortunate that we have 
an artist who can so deeply commune with the 
poet and do no discredit to his highest imaginings. 
It is, of course, absurd to speak of the possibility 
of any great poetical ideas being completely ren- 
dered to the eye. They are the people of the poet's 
world, and the offspring of his genius. They are 
not known of all men, and few or none can follow 
them into all the delicate windings of their individu- 
ality. If an artist appears who can portray with 



470 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

truth even one of their many-sided aspects, the 
world deems itself fortunate. In Dore, however, we 
have one who, at least, surpasses all his predeces- 
sors. He can not only present worthily and with 
suggestive energy the forms themselves, with many 
attributes of grace and beauty, but he also adds 
abundant accessions that show his wide range of 
feeling. Hence it so often happens, that the whole 
tone of a design is in perfect concord with the cen- 
tral idea, and thereby its effect is developed into a 
prolific richness, which only a poetical nature could 
think out. With some artists the visions of poetry 
" flit solemn and slow in the eye of the mind ; " with 
others they are scanty and faint; but in Dore's 
works we often meet with invention so profuse, that 
the page can hardly contain the images that flow 
from his creative pencil. Like the spear of Ithuriel, 
it starts into sudden being and action, with touch 
of celestial temper, not only the scornful and malig- 
nant king of wickedness, but the youthful splendor 
of angelic messengers. From it come with equal 
power " that first naked glory " of unfallen man ; 
the consummate loveliness of the virgin earth ; and 
the numberless forms of animal life which lend to 
her green tranquillity the charms that come from 
grace of form, the vivacity and freedom of inde- 
pendent motion, and the simple purity of Nature. 

The extent of his genius is often visible in un- 
expected ways and bizarre directions. The same 
hand that traced the hoary years of the Wander- 



LATENT NATURE. 471 

ing Jew across the hollow deeps of time, and made 
him the nucleus of a quaint and grotesque creation 
of monsters of more fearful aspect than those that 
kenneled in the womb of sin, also portrayed the 
marvels of those fairy stories in which during our 
early years we reveled. In Les Contes de Perrault 
we feel at once transported again to the broad and 
limitless wonderment of infancy — the fierceness of 
the grim ogre, the petite audacity and cunning of 
Hop-o'-my-Thumb, the dimly suggested horror of 
dark woods with the forlorn band of lost brothers, 
and all the terrors that once held us spell-bound, 
till we went weeping to our beds, and, covering our 
faces in the gloom of our abject terror, called up 
horrible shapes, till gentle sleep came down from, 
heaven in our behalf. Then we were all poets, and 
the cool arguments of reason had not dispelled the 
phantoms that attended our waking hours, and even 
in slumber drew a rain of tears over ruddy cheeks, 
or caused convulsive starts and clenching of little 
fists, as already we bearded the lion in his den, or 
performed anew the exploits of Greatheart. These 
were the mute expression of untainted Nature, yet 
virgin of all care. " When sleeping childhood 
smiles," say the Hindoos, " God is talking to it." 
Doubtless these happier dreams are animated by a 
transient ray from that heaven which the pure 
spirit has so lately left, and which waking, it can 
no longer enjoy. Would that the infant pilgrim 
might know and cherish it, for it is the bequest of 



472 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

compassionate Providence, and soon it shall no 
longer appear, and few shall henceforth be tiie 
glimpses of celestial light that come to him, over 
the wide unrest of a tumultuous ocean. This quick 
sympathy with the child-nature is a most attractive 
charm in Dore's works, and is one which will always 
make him popular with the world. " Nimble, quick, 
and forgetive," and disdaining no feature of sim- 
plicity or innocence, it throngs the airy halls of 
freshenino; life with delectable imao;es that are en- 
deared to us by associations long past, yet strong, 
and still vivaciously clasping even the weakest 
imagination. Often they grow Avith our growth 
and strengthen with our strength, and, crowning 
the long vista of years, we yet see them even from 
the remoteness of accumulated davs. The settino; 
sun of age but gilds them into a glowing and re- 
mote vision, and at the verge of the grave we hear 
from forms unseen the hymn that we learnt at our 
mother's knee, or across the distant horizon passes 
the long train of some ancient fable. Often to 
those who have consumed the wine of life, and are 
forced to sip, in reluctant and solitary sadness, its 
bitter dregs, these are the only pleasing bequest of 
youth — as it were, the lingering reminiscence of 
the aroma that made so piquant the foam they once 
quaffed. 

Some weeks since, when making a call upon M. 
Dore, he gave me several of the photographs to 
which I above referred. These are highly interest- 



LATENT NATURE. 473 

ing, as showing the difference between the energetic 
strokes that come from the master's hand and their 
treatment by the engravers. In most cases, the 
latter do their work with great abihty and a nice 
appreciation of the designs. It sometimes even 
happens that tlieir efforts really improve upon those 
of the author. In general, however, the originals 
are wonderful in their superiority to the engravings. 
Often the immense breadth and energy that are 
created by a single line are quite lost, as might be 
expected, from the subtle origin of their real power. 
One of tlie sketches I received represents the com- 
bat of the warrino; angels. Giant and nmscular 
forms strup-o'le with vindictive hate to heave huge 
rocks up to the battlements of heaven. In their 
faces are seen despair, fury, and " courage, never 
to submit or yield." " Loudly t]iey rage against 
the Highest," while far in the distance the battling 
hosts in ever recedino; muhitudes are minoled in 
tlie death -grapple. Tlieir forms are but dimly in- 
timated in the darkness, or brought out in bold 
relief by the vivid lightning that flashes in broad 
masses, — the avengino; minister of divine wrath. 
One can almost hear the thunder bellow through 
the vast and boundless deep. In the foreground, in 
prostrate anguish, and the terror of defeat, lie the 
bodies of the overwhelmed and downcast. Some 
with upturned faces and threatening arms are blas- 
pheming against Heaven their impotent hate. All 
tells of horror, despair, and the last fierce throes of 



474 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

those forever lost. A single sketch like this, done 
with the effective touches of a ready artist, would 
be sufficient for the reputation of any man. But 
when we reflect that this is only one of thousands 
from the same pencil, covering every phase of human 
experience, each aspect of poetical revelation, and 
every form of Nature's works, we are amazed at 
the contemplation of a fertility so rich, an invention 
so unlimited. The genius of M. Dore seems the 
embodiment, to a great extent, of the real tenden- 
cies of the age, which daily bring man into closer 
and closer communion with Nature. In this light 
he is a real boon to humanity, for his widely scat- 
tered labors will materially aid in the developing 
those very tastes of which his mind is apparently 
the type. 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 



INDUSTRY. 



The Great Exhibition has now reached its close. 
No longer an uncertain contingency, clouded by 
doubt, anxiously discussed in the mouths of men, 
attended by omens that might suggest either good 
or evil fortune, it has become a fact, and will soon 
be fixed forever in the broad domain of history. As 
to the benefits it has conferred upon humanity, pos- 
terity will decide. That it has been largely produc- 
tive of good, all thinking minds even now readily 
admit, and this influence must increase, if for no 
other reason, from its broad sympathy with the 
spirit of our era. It is a manifestation of approach- 
ing power, power widely surging from below, and 
no longer to be ignored. The hour of the people 
draws nigh, and the French Revolution itself, violent 
and irresistible as were the elements of popular 
strength it bore in its womb, was not a more con- 
vincing display of national force than this peaceful 
triumph of manifold and humble labor. Of old, 
hereditary princes, uniting in themselves the hands 
and brains of whole nations, confiscated them to 
works of royal pride ; and " the labors of an age in 



476 • THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

J3lled stone " testified to their folly and the thought- 
less eo;otism that could divert the eneroies of a whole 
race from noble aims. In our day no Pyramids rise 
slowly to the groans of dying and miserable slaves ; 
no Coliseums are created by the stripes and blood of 
thousands of captives ; but a more peaceful and hon- 
orable monument springs up to bear witness to the 
power of humble and well-directed labor. In this 
bright efflorescence of the nineteenth century, the 
thoughtful mind discerns an energy stronger and 
more widely extended than the prerogative of kings, 
a sense of right that gradually is becoming conscious 
of its force, and will soon cease to submit to the dic- 
tation of royalty ; a development of vital life, which 
already is stretching out millions of hands and will 
soon assume the position to which every man has an 
innate and heaven-descended claim. Liberty, once a 
fiction, theoretic and romantic, chanted in the w^orks 
of poets and enthusiastic genius, is soon to be, in 
fact already is, a bright and palpable reality. To this 
result all labor leads, operating through a thousand 
secret influences. Says Carlyle : " Work is the 
grand cure of all the maladies and miseries that beset 
mankind — honest work." " Man is born to ex- 
pend every particle of strength that God Almighty 
has given him In doing the work he finds he is fit for 
— to stand it out to the last breath of life — do his 
best.'' To this result, long waited and wept for 
by far-sighted and sanguine philanthropists, our 
history daily tends, and thus " we work out our 



1 



INDUSTRY. 477 

own salvation with fear and tremblino;." With all- 
embracing and prophetic sympathy, the most hum- 
ble and devoted of all laborers wrought His unceas- 
ing sacrifice in our behalf, " For the night conieth 
when no man can work." Mindful of this hio-h ex- 
ample, did Coleridge and Doctor Johnson inscribe 
these words upon their time-keepers, deploring their 
natural indolence, and seeking, with deep apprecia- 
tion of their simple and impressive truth, thus to 
strive against the fleshly weaknesses of their mortal 
part. 

Among the various songs that sprang from the 
Revolution of 1848, this is by far the grandest, and 
almost the only one that has survived : — 

" Travaillons, travaillons, mes freres! 
Le travail c'est la liberty." 

" Let us -work, let us work, my brothers ! 
For work is liberty ! " 

It was sung by tumultuous and fervent crowds, who, 
suddenly inspired with a sense of its meaning, could 
not refrain from expressing the Heaven-revealed 
belief that was in them. Miso-uided and ill-directed, 
this precept at that time brought forth no tangible 
result. But now, long fermenting in the darkness, 
its hidden efficacy has been made known, and in the 
Great Exhibition the people themselves perceive the 
results of their growing and centred vigor. Thought- 
less men may deride it, and verbose pens may heap 
scorn upon it, but the germ of fruitfulness is there, 
nevertheless. It has been attended by many little- 



478 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

nesses, and, like every other great enterprise, tainted 
by numerous short-comings. But why cannot the 
world overlook the bad and cling to the manifest 
good? Because the restaurant-keepers have been 
pillaged of their chairs by the Imperial Commission, 
the whole Exposition is to be swallowed up in the 

Red Sea of their disappointed avarice. Mr. 

has not received a gold medal for his most cherished 
invention, and the whole Champ de 3Iars is blasted 
by his wrath. The editor of the " Figaro " goes to the 
building on a windy day and suffers from cold feet ; 
in the next number is a column of abuse, designed 
to annihilate the structure and everything therein. 
Fortunately, outside this windy tempest of newspa- 
porial indignation can be seen a few observers who 
are not to be led away from the obvious merits of 
the treasures they perceive around them. Here is 
every form in which human labor has guided the 
thoughts and discoveries, the truths and suggestions 
of genius into tangible grace and usefulness. Here 
the beauties of Nature have been transferred to glow- 
ing canvas, and spotless marble portrays the linea- 
ments of great men for our learning. Here, in 
myriad shapes, taste and elegance, utility and re- 
finement, clasp hands and strive together for the 
lasting good and enjoyment of mankmd. Here ap- 
pear unnumbered aspects of that pleasure situate in 
Nature's works which the skill and ingenuity of 
the earnest artist have provided for our dehght. 
Fountains that murmur as they flow, meandering 



INDUSTRY. 479 

streams, the gentle undulations of broadly expanding 
lawns, towering palms redolent of the mysterious and 
silent spaces of the East, the ample greenness of tall 
bananas, — the willing offering of tropical lands, — 
and all that endless variety and thick luxuriance of 
vegetation which bear complete testimony to the rich 
and undying resources of Nature in every clime. He 
who enters upon these enjoyments with an humble 
heart, conscious of his own imperfections and desir- 
ous worthily to benefit by them, rises superior to 
the petty woes of life, and can afford to forget for 
the moment the extortions of rapacity, the mean- 
nesses of officials, the bodily discomforts that for the 
moment annoy and disgust, and all those lesser ills 
that we are often called upon to endure as a test of 
the steadfastness of our faith. 

To those who have watched with deep and 
thoughtful interest the progress of mankind, who in 
later years have rejoiced over its ever broadening 
growth, and the real increase of its higher powers, 
the Great Exhibition offers a most suggestive topic 
for their study. The history of our divine hu- 
manity, especially so far as concerns those born in a 
low condition, and subject to the belittling influences 
of poverty and ignorance, has been strange and sad. 
Never ending, still beginning; fighting still, and 
still destroying ; now burning with high hope, now 
mouldering cold and low, it has yet toiled on and 
on, conscious of a noble future, and true to its lofty 
lineage. Led by high aspirations, deriving at least 



480 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

a faint benefit from all its joys, its toils, its sorrows, 
its hopes, it has now reached a height from which 
the dawn of coming happiness is clearer than ever 
before. Like the Apostle, it has been " troubled on 
every side, yet not distressed ; perplexed, but not 
in despair ; persecuted, but not forsaken ; cast down, 
but not destroyed ; in weariness and painfulness, in 
watchings often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings of- 
ten, in cold and nakedness ; " at times the victim of 
oppression and despotic influence, the tool of ambition 
that scrupled not to enslave it, or of theorizers who 
professed to benefit it ; the wayward maniac of its 
own passions, — the odious progeny tumultuously 
begotten of a sense of wrong and hurrying it blindly 
hither and thither, — still with every hindrance, 
strength has come to it, and bursting the green 
withes, yea, the knotted ropes, of its binding, it has 
proved the imperishable strength that lay in its 
depths, " for we are His offspring," and thus doth 
Nature have her perfect work, and in it we are all 
blessed. 

" Nature doth embrace 
Her lawful offspring in man's art." 

In our day the triumphs of Industry claim a higher 
and ever higher place in our esteem, through the 
long record of her troubles ; Industry, the first born 
of fallen man in his sorrow, and sent to comfort, cheer, 
and console ; Industry, that contains within itself 
the germs of undying life, and will never grow old ; 
that has wrestled with the angel of the Most High, 



INDUSTRY. 481 

till he poured forth a blessing ; that is strong to 
save and mighty to heal, each day gaining fresh ele- 
ments of vigor and beauty, like some bright, consum- 
mate flower whose radiance charms, and whose odor 
cures ; Industry, that mysteriously leavened the 
gross darkness of the Middle Ages into the fullness 
of its present vigorous and glowing expansion ; the 
prop and stay of fainting chivalry, and the inheritor 
of many of its virtues ; Industry, queened in the 
hearts of the sons of toil, and sweetening their labors 
by the cheerful inspiration of song ; Industry, whose 
symphony belts the world with music more harmoni- 
ous than that of the spheres, or the deep melody of 
the rolling earth ; whose voice is heard in the sonor- 
ous cadence of resounding hammers, the cheerful 
click of iron fingers, the busy hum of countless 
spindles, the crash of axes, and the thud of distant 
flails : from melody so sweet as this, mingling in one 
vast diapason, well may come those shapes that charm 
and beautify, and surround us on every side with the 
palpable delights of life. Industry may well sit su- 
preme in our hearts, and again may the trusty soul 
say, with the confidence of a quick reward. Work 
while it is day, " for the night cometh when no man 
can work." 

And yet there are those, even in our own nation, 
proud as we are with reason of our descent from the 
toil-worn Pilgrims, who look with contempt upon 
the hard hands of the honest laborer, and with silent 
scorn deny him that share in our common heritage to 
31 



482 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

which his diligence, humble as it is, gives him an 
undying right. Often they are those who, enjoying 
wealth and a name which the travail of an ancestor 
has adorned for their wearing, derive therefrom no 
sense of responsibility ; who offer the past no tribute 
of gratitude, the present no aid, and deny the claims 
of the future upon them ; who draw after them a 
long train of idleness and inefficiency, curdle the 
sap of life, and tarnish that portion of the Divine 
mind which God hath bestowed to show how much 
He loved us. Upon these will the thunders of Al- 
mighty wrath one day assuredly descend as upon 
faithless stewards, untrue to their better instincts 
and refusing to aid the great Master-Worker, who 
created them for a noble aim. Far otherwise will 
it be with them, who, born in a low condition, like 
Him whose blessed feet trod the flinty paths of earth 
for our redemption, have done faithfully and well 
their work, however unpretending. In the purifica- 
tion of death, when the days of our refreshing shall 
come ; when the mounting soul casts off the slough of 
earth and stands in the presence of its great Original, 
redeemed, regenerated, disenthralled, then shall the 
conscientious worker stretch out clean hands towards 
his Maker, and trustingly render back with usury to 
Divine Omniscience the talenf bestowed upon him 
of old. In that day, the redemption of man shall 
come, not from those who have striven to cabin the 
faith of their race with the cold formalities of a 
barren and chilling creed ; not from those who have 



INDUSTRY. 483 

sought to tithe with mint and anise and cumin the 
earnest lono-Ino-s of the soul ; not from those who 
with tense rein have checked tlie march of mankind, 
and curbed its healthy and impatient yearnings ; 
not from " Pan-Anglican synods," babbling in senile 
and profitless fatuity and ignoring the vital interests 
of our day and race ; but to those shall be awarded 
the prize of '' Well-done, good and faithful servant," 
who have obeyed the behests of God within them, 
and worked out their own salvation in patient and 
self-denying toil. 

Dotli not the Deity himself, in this great Sabbath 
of the world, rest from his labors that man himself 
may continue to carry them on ? And how can we 
do this more efficiently than by casting in our lot 
with the sons of Industry, and aiding them in their 
high mission by every word of profitable counsel and 
every deed of strong encouragement? In our 
day mind joins with mind, and royal and princely 
dignitaries will ere long give place to sovereignties 
higher far descended, for they will come from the 
inborn right of every man to enjoy the roughness 
of his own hands and the sweat of his own brow, 
and maintain his own independence, subject to the 
law. The swarm of imbeciles, the issue of royal 
loins, that fate has inflicted upon the nations of 
Europe to locust the earnings of the people, shall, ere 
many generations, disappear before the whirlwind of 
popular indignation and disgust. Kings and Emper- 
r)rs may glorify the Great Exhibition and lend it the 



484 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

eclat of their presence, but It is the people's triumph 
nevertheless ; democratic in its origin and influence, 
like a firm and lofty breastwork, it takes its part 
in offering a barrier against future encroachments 
or oppression. Potent as it is to prove the advances 
of the ase in mental excellence, and the adornments 
of utility and beauty, it is still stronger as a mani- 
festation of popular power. It claims indemnity for 
the past, and demands security for the future, and of 
it there shall be no end. It is the deepening of that 
shining light, which shineth more and more unto 
the perfect day. To the well-wisher and lover of 
his species it is full of hope, and they who have 
most carefully studied the marvelous results of 
human diligence that it offers, have been most 
deeply impressed with its wide significance and the 
tokens it gives of advancement in that broad and 
ever broadening road by which we daily progress. 

The coming ages already move in long and ma- 
jestic procession through the eye of the mind. In 
their features is the glow of truth, as they are 
steadily set towards the heavenly city. Behind 
them rise the dim and shadowy forms of the great 
minds of the past, cast full and free across the future. 
Between us and the brightness of that celestial sun 
whose light shall never die, they tower aloft like 
stalwart watch-towers. With the penumbra of their 
mighty genius our own souls mingle daily more and 
more, and even now we begin to penetrate the 
deeper shades of their personality. But those future- 



INDUSTRY. 485 

centuries shall inherit us, and give an unknown life 
to that with which we endow, them. Those giant 
intellects shall stoop from their high estate and con- 
fide to our posterity secrets unknown to us and por- 
tents yet slumbering in the womb of time. Industry, 
ever in the van, shall woo them on, and with gentle 
and persuasive art extort from them their mysteries. 
Already she marshals them the way tliat they were 
going, and with the beneficent serenity of the morn- 
ing-star, leads on the dawning day. Severe in 
youthful beauty, first-born and favorite child of the 
past, soother of many a woe, the beneficent empress 
of human joy, and companion of fair-eyed Hope, be- 
fore her Genius gladly casts down abundant wreaths, 
rejoicing daily more and more in the homage it 
willingly renders. And now what wait we for? 
Not the mad victories of war and nation fighting 
against nation, but the reign of peace and the union 
of the whole natural brotherhood of man in that 
tranquil happiness which Industry bestows. Before 
her mild and benignant reign, kings and despots must 
fall. The claims of long-descended and arrogant as- 
sumption must inevitably disappear like clouds be- 
fore the coming sun. Through her we ever ap- 
proach our designed perfection, and thus shall hu- 
manity yet scale the highest heaven of human in- 
vention. The great world toils on from its infant 
morn to its manly noon, and glorious shall be the 
setting of its aged evening. May we all, then, have 
grace to aid in an object so dear to the best inter- 



486 THE GREAT EXHIBITION. 

ests of our race, and assist in that progress which 
shall end in immortality. He must indeed be rec- 
reant to his better nature who can willfully refuse 
thus to employ such abihties as the Creator's in- 
dulgence has bestowed upon him. 

" Let us do our work as well, 

Both the unseen and the seen, 
Make the house where gods may dwell 

Beautiful, entire, and clean." 

" A servant with this clause 

Makes drudgerie divine ; 
Who sweeps a room as to Thy laws 

Makes that and th' action fine. 

This is the famous stone 
That tumeth all to gold; — 
For that which God doth touch and own 
Cannot for lesse be told." 



FINIS. 



K 7 16*^ 



